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icallhimjoey · 3 months

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♥ ♥ Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: What good are flatmates even, if they don't comfort you when you need it most? Or when you need it a normal amount? Or, you know, when you don't really need it, but just really want it?

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, afab!reader, hurt/comfort i guess? idk we're sad a lot and joe cheers us up a lot, mentions of reader having hair long enough to be played with

Author’s note: oooohh trouble in paradise? or maybe not... well, at least there's some realisations. a few of them. we'll see how much they'll actually mean and if it'll change anything.

Wordcount: 4.3K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Joe had been thrown for a loop.

What the fuck was that?

He didn’t understand what was suddenly different. Why things had suddenly changed. It was only subtle, they were just two words. But at the same time, proven by the fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about them, they carried colossal meaning.

“Thank you.”

It took him a second to process the words. He didn’t even really hear them at first. Didn’t let them land properly. Not initially.

He watched you walk into the kitchen and have a sip of water before you went to bed. Told him good night, which he returned, and then after you’d left him by himself, he suddenly frowned. Tucked in his chin in confusion.

Thank you?

Thank you for what?

You had never told him thank you before after an evening of a shared pizza and soft comfort on the sofa. Throughout the whole film, Joe’d rested his arm on the back of it, bent at the elbow, fingers slowly raking through your hair at your hairline. You’d curled into him like a cat, feet pressed into the cushions right next to his thighs, knees over his lap and your head on his shoulder.

Close and comfy, like it always was. Like you always were.

Joe had expected you to fall asleep, because you usually did, but you hadn’t this time. The film ended, and as the credits rolled, you sat up, stretched your arms up over your head and yawned.

“Thank you.” you’d casually said before getting up and leaving him there.

You made an offhand comment about needing to clean the kitchen. Said you’d get to it tomorrow and disappeared into the hallway before Joe could say anything about it.

Thank you.

Joe knew he was likely being silly. Saying thank you was a good thing. A polite thing to do, the opposite of rude, or careless. He should actually be glad for it.

Yet, he wasn’t.

It took him a whole day of thinking about it to figure out why it bothered him so much.

For one, he didn’t like that you’d introduced something new that felt less intimate, somehow. You’d never said it before, and he couldn’t think of anything else being different, so why suddenly this? Then, secondly, and Joe knew there was a fair chance he was wrong, but it somehow turned the quality time you spent together feel grossly transactional.

Like he’d done a stranger a favour.

He still didn’t fully get it, because essentially he was accusing you of doing something appreciative, but it just... it absolutely didn’t sit right with him.

Problem was, who was he going to talk to about this?

He couldn’t talk to anyone. Not even you. Because that’s not what you did. You never talked. Not about these things, at least.

And so, because there wasn’t really any other choice, Joe decided to push the whole thing to the back of his mind, where he’d forget about all of it eventually.

He was likely being stupid.

You had been nice.

He could just force himself to say you were welcome if you did it again.

Though he really hoped you wouldn’t do it again.

Didn’t want that to become a new flatmate thing, saying thank you and you’re welcome like you were vague acquaintances.

Things weren’t meant to move backwards like that. Not that Joe dared think of next steps. Forward ones. Of moving whatever was happening between the two of you along. But he didn’t want to go backwards.

He feared things were already slightly moving backwards though, because you’d not snuck into his bed in a while.

And you’d not gone out of your way to find him for a quick hug in a bit.

Joe thought it was likely that you were seeing someone. Or at least talking to someone. Not that this stopped you from draping yourself over Joe’s lap when you’d find him watching TV sat on the sofa, but it felt like you were pulling away just ever so slightly.

He only allowed himself to dwell on it for a second.

Was probably for the best, wasn’t it?

Joe understood that having you as a flatmate only worked out in the way that it did on his end because he wasn’t looking to enter a serious relationship with anyone.

If he was, he’d have to move out.

He’d have to.

There was no way he was going to be able to convince someone, anyone, that you and Joe were just normal flatmates. Especially if it was someone he’d have serious intentions about maybe marrying one day.

Or, if he could, there’d still be the issue that she would then likely not trust it. Not trust you. Not trust him.

So maybe this was smart.

Not as fun, though.

Good, for you. Obviously. You seemed happier. In better moods. This was a good thing, Joe reminded himself, and made a real point to think it every time he felt a little sad when he watched a film by himself in an empty flat. When he went to bed by himself in an empty flat.

A few weeks passed like that, until one afternoon, he’d walked in with bags full of shopping, and saw you’d crawled into bed for a midday nap. You’d left your bedroom door open and Joe took a moment to look at you as he leant against the doorframe.

Why did you look so much better to him when you were asleep?

So much softer. Almost fragile. Like you needed protecting.

He knew he took too long staring at you. Had to snap himself out of it and he squeezed his eyes shut as he closed the door. The self-restraint it took to not just walk right over and get into bed with you deserved a fucking medal, Joe thought.

When dinner time was nearing and he still hadn’t seen or heard you, he took it upon himself to go and wake you up.

Soft knocks on your bedroom door got no answer.

He went inside anyway, whispered your name and walked over to your bed.

You’d curled up into a little ball, face squished between your pillow and your pulled up shoulder and you looked achingly adorable, Joe could hardly stand it.

He used a finger to remove a strand of hair that had fallen over your face and softly said your name once more.

You woke up slow.

Joe got to witness it from up close.

After groaning, stretching and a deep inhale, you blinked your eyes into focus and found Joe sat on the edge of your bed.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he smiled. You frowned at his little joke, knowing full well it was nearing in on the evening. “We’re making pizza from scratch for dinner.”

You hummed and, in all honesty, wanted to roll over and get a few more minutes in. You’d not had a single good night’s sleep all week, so you’d reserved the weekend to catch up.

Just, sleep. No other plans.

“You want some home made pizza?” Joe cooed, eyes all rounded, all gentle.

You nodded, rubbing your face further into your pillow as you did.

“Yea? What toppings do you want?”

Joe forced you to wake up a little more. To think a little straighter.

It took you a second to get it together, and then you softly said, “I don’t know, what did you get?”

“Lots.”

“Hmm,” you tried your best suppressing a yawn. “I’ll have everything then.”

“All right, one everything-pizza, coming up.”

You huffed a laugh and rolled onto your back, managing to open your eyes fully now. You stared up at the ceiling a second, and then looked at Joe.

“I skipped lunch, so this is perfect, actually.”

And Joe just... smiled. Grinned widely as he looked at you. It took a few seconds before he seemed to realise that you could see him, because suddenly he looked down a little bashfully before clearing his throat and getting up.

“No need to rush, it’ll take a while. Dough’s still rising.” Joe talked as he walked out, slapping the doorframe as he passed it before disappearing from view.

And... shit.

You felt it then and you just... you knew you’d been right.

This just confirmed it, and you didn’t like how it all just settled into your bones more. Because, it meant trouble.

You’d first noticed it a few weeks ago.

How you’d somehow, over the span of some months, had fucking managed to fully pavlov yourself. Conditioned your mood into doing a complete one-eighty the moment your flat came into view.

You could’ve had the best day. Be in the best mood. Absolutely no reason to feel sad, to be tired, to be all down. Could be so happy, feel really upbeat, all chipper and energized. But you would quite literally turn the corner, would see your building, and you would feel your whole mood sink with every step you’d get closer.

And for what?

Just so you could be babied by your flatmate?

Because you knew he always would?

Sick. That wasn’t okay.

You had a stern check-in with yourself when, a few weeks ago, you came home after work and used the whole lift ride to think of reasons to be sad, quite literally depressing yourself.

And then, when you walked in on the verge of tears, Joe wasn’t there.

You fucking idiot.

Did all that for fucking nothing.

And now what?

Pick up the pieces yourself?

Where was the fun in that?

You thought about Joe’s bed, then. You knew he didn’t mind you sleeping in there. But, what were you doing, realistically? If you really gave it a good think?

Something needed changing.

Enough of this bullshit.

And when Joe had walked in around eight that evening, you sat down and watched a film together and you’d tried so very hard not to fall asleep. To not wobble in your mood. To not rely on Joe so much to fix what wasn’t even broken. God, you really had to stop convincing yourself that you were broken all of the time.

Once the film finished, you’d told Joe thanks and went to sleep and felt fucking awful for it, but it was probably for the best.

It would be good trying to be a bit more normal.

Use your words.

Be polite and say thanks when you should.

And maybe you should stop going for dates with guys, laugh at their jokes all night, but secretly be so excited to go home where you could sink into Joe’s side and hide yourself away underneath his arm for a good while.

Maybe you should stop having adult sleep-overs at random guys’ places, and constantly think of how your body fit together with theirs compared to Joe’s.

Wasn’t exactly healthy, what you’d been doing, was it?

Best to pull back. If only a little.

But then, waking up to Joe sat on the edge of your bed? Calling you sunshine as he smiled? Talking about making home made pizza together? Whispering all soft so you could wake up gently?

God.

There really was just something about it.

About him.

And even though you lived together, you realised you had missed him when you watched him walk out of your bedroom, talking about pizza dough rising and telling you not to rush getting out of bed.

Overcome by a weird surge of blind affection that would’ve been directionless had Joe not been there, you decided to just let it lead you where it wanted you to go. Let it pull you out of bed. Let it lumber you over to your kitchen.

You had itchy hands that needed to touch.

Arms that need to curl around and squeeze.

Feel him.

Feel him all up against you. Around you. Everywhere.

But, you were stopped in your tracks.

Thrown for a loop.

You hadn’t expected another person there.

Joe was stood by the counter, his back facing you, as he was cutting up some chicken to cook.

At the island stood his father.

“Hello,” Joe’s dad could smile just as warmly as Joe could. All kind and friendly. He said hello the way polite people always did, intonation going from up, then down, and then slightly up again at the end.

You knew Joe’s dad.

Had met him many times before.

You just hadn’t expected him.

He startled the tears right into your eyes.

Which sucked.

Because you were already on your way to attach yourself to Joe for a minute, and now you couldn’t because that’s not what you did in front of other people, and now you were crying, and guess how you always dealt with tears inside these four walls? Who always dealt with your tears inside these four walls?

Panic.

“Ooh, sorry! Did I frighten you?”

“N-no,” you tried smiling to disguise that actually, yes, he had done. But that wasn’t his fault. You had just wrongly assumed that when Joe said we’re making pizza from scratch, that he meant you and him would be making pizza from scratch.

Not his father and him.

Stupid.

Joe looked over his shoulder and saw you stood in the doorway still, body all rigid as your eyes darted from his dad to him and back again, and he saw.

Saw how your index fingers curled to scratch at your thumbs by your sides.

Saw how your held your breath, scared to release it, because what if it came out as a sob?

Saw how you bit your bottom lip into your mouth to make sure they wouldn’t see it tremble.

Saw the telltale crease of your forehead that always came before tears.

Shit.

Joe put his knife down and then, just... stood there. Didn’t know what to do. Because there was company, and Joe didn’t do what Joe usually did when there was company.

So now what?

You opened your mouth, and something stuttered out, but none of you could make sense of what words they were meant to be.

And then you just... stepped back.

Left.

Needed to go hide in your bathroom or something. Splash some cold water into your face and slap yourself across a wet cheek. It was so fucking silly, but it was wildly overwhelming to really want a hug from your comfort-person and then not be able to get one.

Just before you were about to dart into your room, you heard following footsteps.

No voice.

No words.

Just footsteps.

You were about three steps into your bedroom, bee-lining it to your ensuite, when a hand got you by the elbow and stopped you.

“Hey, come here.”

You easily let yourself be pulled back and crashed into Joe’s chest. It was confusing to try and wrap your head around why you suddenly were all up in your feelings, why the sudden dramatics, why your eyes were wet and your throat felt tight.

But then, there was Joe.

Ready to take care of it.

Joe used both arms to hold you against him firmly, one large palm around the back of your head to hold it in place. He let his head rest on top of yours, his cheek pressing into your hair, and you clung to him. Burrowed your face into him and tightly twisted handfuls of fabric of his shirt into your fists as your breathing grew more erratic.

“Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Joe shushed and squeezed you and you mentally kicked yourself for even attempting to deprive yourself from this for weeks.

This was nice. This certainty of safety. Of zero judgement. Zero questions.

Why were you so upset?

It left you shaking.

Joe fucking loved it.

“It’s just my dad,” Joe said, and you couldn’t help the laugh that startled out of you. He said it like he was reassuring you that his dad didn’t bite, but you understood he meant his dad wasn’t going to be weird about what he’d just witnessed. Wasn’t going to mention how you’d just made a fool of yourself.

You turned your head to press your forehead into the hollow of Joe’s neck, rubbed your skin across his and took a second to just breathe. To stick your nose into the dip between his collarbones and to inhale him. To really feel Joe.

And Joe was never the first to pull away.

But his dad was making pizza in the kitchen still.

The longer you’d be gone, the higher the chance of an explanation needed.

“Tell you what,” Joe said after a bit. “You take a minute, clean this pigsty,–” Joe felt you were about to pull back, likely to argue him, so he didn’t leave any room as he quickly continued, “It’s so messy in here, I can’t even see the floor, and then, once you’re finished, in like, half an hour,–” you fully tried pulling out of Joe’s grasp now as you laughed, but he’d really locked his arm in, keeping you in place, still squished against his front. It turned into a playful wrestle to get free as you tried to pry your hands in between the two of you. “When you’ll have managed maybe tidy half of it, we’ll have dinner ready.”

Joe finally let go, and you pinched him in the side for his jokes.

Made him flinch and yelp, and it only made you smile wider.

Your room was hardly a mess.

“I’ll make an extra large pizza with the– with everything on that we can share.”

Fuck off, that made you pout.

“Stop, don’t cry. It’s just because my dad wants bean curd on his, so he has to do his own.”

“Oh, ew,” you grimaced, and Joe made big eyes in agreement as he nodded.

“Bean curd doesn’t count as everything,”

“Bean curd doesn’t even count as food.”

And just like that; you were normal flatmates again.

One just desperately needed a cuddle and the other desperately wanted to give one.

You didn’t need to talk about why.

Didn’t need to explain yourselves.

It just was what it was.

Joe gave your shoulders a last squeeze and left you alone in your bedroom. Pretended to trip on mess on his way out, and you checked, but there was nothing there.

Just before Joe found himself back in his kitchen where his dad was cutting up tofu, he silently celebrated how you hadn’t said thank you this time.

The universe felt restored.

Joe casually told his father that you were half asleep still when you’d walked in a minute ago. And his dad didn’t ask questions. Just asked if he could pass him the shredded cheese.

Having dinner together was fine. You mostly listened to the conversations between the two of them. Chimed in with an opinion when asked. Gave Joe a look when he silently ate all the smaller slices he’d cut, leaving you the larger ones, ensuring you got more than plenty seeing as you’d not eaten since breakfast.

About an hour later, when his dad was on his way out, you heard him ask Joe if he had any plans for the evening. It was Saturday night. You forgot people often had exciting plans on Saturday night.

For a single second, you prayed Joe didn’t have any plans as you selfishly felt you were due some falling asleep in his arms on the sofa.

Then you heard him say, “Horror film, I think,” before the two of them fell into too long a conversation about which films they’d seen over the past couple of weeks. And had Joe seen this film already? Because he’d heard good things. Um, no, he hadn’t. Not Yet. Ah, but he was going to a screening on Wednesday, Joe should join him. And, yea, he’d check his schedule, would let him know, because that sounded like fun.

You were cleaning the kitchen, wiping down the counters, when Joe finally said goodbye to his father and shut the door behind him. You heard how he locked it properly before he joined you again.

Joe didn’t ask if you wanted to watch a scary film with him. Just turned on the TV and found the one he wanted to watch.

Didn’t ask if you wanted a fat glass of red wine. Just poured two and placed them on the coffee table.

He didn’t have to call you over, didn’t have to motion at where to sit, and didn’t have to ask to share the blanket. You were already there, sat down right beside him and covered the two of you with the cosiest throw blanket you owned.

All unsaid.

All perfectly executed.

You weren’t the best at enjoying horror flicks. You were too easily scared, the suspense too difficult for you to handle, but it was fine. Joe was there. And you’d probably hardly get to see any of it, you knew.

Joe knew too.

If not the lack of sleep, the carbs of the pizza and the smooth glass of red would probably get you to drift off in no time.

With your glass in your hand, arm curled in to let it rest against your cheek, Joe invited you to let all your weight slump into his shoulder. He nursed his own glass in his lap as the film started, and you glued your gazes to the TV.

Your eyes were already kind of heavy, but you loved the shared warmth and gentle embrace too much to let yourself fall asleep so easily. You wanted to consciously exist in it for as long as you could, tonight. So you put some real effort into getting into the film, knowing that if it managed to get you hooked, staying awake wouldn’t become a huge chore. Especially with its genre.

But it kind of became a huge chore, anyway.

And you swore there were moments where you could feel Joe’s eyes on you, but when you chanced a quick peek, he was watching the TV, his head inclined to yours ever so slightly.

Maybe that was just the uneasy feeling that the scary film gave you then. Not Joe watching you.

You ignored how that disappointed you slightly.

It didn’t take long for your eyes to grow too heavy to keep open, and after really giving it your best try to fight it, you gave yourself over to what your body wanted. Closed your eyes and turned your nose into Joe’s arm.

Joe smelled like he always smelled.

You couldn’t really describe it, but it was distinctly him.

After a few minutes of teetering on the edge, you felt Joe take the glass of red from your grasp. You wanted to open your eyes, to apologise for nearly falling asleep whilst snuggled up under a cream-coloured throw blanket, but your eyes were heavier than anticipated.

You only managed a small murmur of sound. A little hum to let Joe know.

Your body moved as Joe leant forward to place both glasses onto the coffee table before he sat back, and in your hazy state, you let Joe help you get comfortable again. You felt how his hand slid under your elbow to curl around your arm, rubbing down the curve of it, until it reached your wrist. There, his fingers wrapped around and held on.

Not quite holding hands, but something close.

You dug your face further into his bicep, feeling the contour of it under your cheek and Joe slowly dropped his head on top of yours.

The last thing you remembered hearing were some gory slashing sounds accompanied with loud female screaming coming from the TV.

The last thing you remembered feeling was Joe’s breath that tickled a strand of your hair against your temple.

Yea.

You could just stay there forever.

Fuck rational thought and sensible life choices. They were quickly abandoned and could stay abandoned for all you cared.

Especially when you, what felt like hours later, roused awake a little when two arms lifted you from the sofa. When a voice softly shushed you, even though you made no sound. When an elbow switched off the lights, and when carefully measure footsteps carried you over into bed.

Into Joe’s bed.

You weren’t alert enough to pay attention to Joe’s turns. Hadn’t sensed where Joe was taking you from just his movements.

But the overwhelming scent as you were placed down onto a mattress told you all you needed to know.

With your eyes still closed, your arms searched for Joe across the bed, and you let out a soft whine when you couldn’t find him.

Joe was as quick as he could be.

Rushed around the bed and slid under the covers right into your awaiting arms.

You shifted until you fit together just right.

Comfortably wrapped up, legs wedged in between other legs, arms nudged into crooks of necks and circled around waists. Nose to nose, this time. Close. Sharing breath.

When Joe accidentally bumped his nose against yours, it startled him slightly.

Maybe that was too close.

But then you did something you’d never done before and you nuzzled. Let your noses slide together until those too fit together just right.

Joe knew he shouldn’t think of next steps. Of forward ones. Steps that moved whatever was happening between the two of you along.

But, fuck it.

Tell him how he couldn’t.

Look at how fucking close you were.

And sure, you were just flatmates who did this sometimes. It didn’t have to mean anything, because it hadn’t really meant anything so far.

And yet...

Joe opened a careful eye to steal one last look before he’d let himself drift off, and even though he looked at you with eyes all out of focus, the sight of you made things grow behind his ribs.

He was going to stop pretending this was normal, he promised himself.

Because all of it did mean something.

This carried meaning.

Carried colossal meaning.

---

The Taglisted

@ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @bylermaxmayfield, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @djoseph-quinn, @dolcevit4, @eddies-puppet, @emma77645, @emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @hanahkatexo, @harringtonfan4, @hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @mandyjo8719, @mexicanfolklore, @miserybeans, @munson-mjstan, @nadixq, @nglharry, @notverywise, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @royale1803, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @songforeddiemunson, @sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

taglist currently full, sorry

#Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #icallhimjoey #define close

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offictionandfandoms · 2 years

Text

✎﹏﹏ Rumors Pt. 2

Previous | Next

✑ Pairings: Eddie Munson x f!reader!

✑ Word Count: 5192

✑ Requested: Yes/No

✑ Warnings: Angst into fluff, cursing, bad DND talk because I don’t understand DND so….yeah. Let me know if I missed anything!

✑ Authors Note: I just want to thank everyone who loved the last part and requested to be tagged in this one. It truly means so much to me, y’all have no idea. I wish I could reply to every comment asking to be tagged but I was busy making this. I’m sorry if I missed anyone! I hope this part lives up to expectations and you love it just as much. Also. I have a small part three that is just fluff because I was in a mood and I already liked the way I had ended this one…so. Here is a short fluff part 3! Enjoy :)

✑ Gif isn’t mine!

“It’s spelled with an ‘e’ not an ‘o’,” Y/N critiqued the paper in front of her, using her usual red pen to circle the mistake. The paper was adorned in red ink at this point, harshly overlapping the pencil markings, something she usually tried to limit. She always believed that verbally pointing out the mistakes and allowing the student to fix it in the moment was better than just marking the paper and letting them go. But over the past few days, all she cared about was wrapping up her tutoring sessions as fast as possible so she could escape back to her house.

“Oh, okay.” The dejected tone of the student had her looking up from the paper, red pen hesitating over yet another mistake she was about to mark. The reason being that she always wished to verbally correct them over just marking was that they always took the red marks to heart: the more marks there were, the worse the feeling of failure became. She was a tutor, not a dream crusher. Yet that’s all she had been doing lately. She recognized this, but she couldn’t stop it. It was like an angry blue monster had sat right on her brain, eating away at all sense of logic, healing, and hope, replacing it all with bitterness, sadness, and tints of anger whenever she saw Eddie Munson’s stupid pretty face in the halls or in class. She felt horrible in every way possible.

“I’m sorry,” she started, opening her mouth to give words of encouragement but halting before anything slipped out. The wide green eyes staring back at her were waiting, wanting some sort of pick-me-up advice and comfort. But how could she offer them that when she couldn’t even give it to herself? On top of feeling horrible, she felt pathetic. It had been days since the break up, days since she spoke to Eddie or even Jason, who she still hadn’t confronted about the rumor. The only person who she actively spoke to beyond her tutoring clients was Max Mayfield, who insisted on checking in on her every day, even if it meant her step-brother had to wait in the parking lot.

“It’s not a bad paper, these errors- they’re small. Just little things. You can fix them and everything will be okay.” She muttered out, averting her eyes back to the paper, yet not truly taking anything in. She had begged Eddie to let her fix her error- which she now knew hadn’t even been /her/ error- and he rejected her. Banished her, actually. The thought now made her laugh— was she some traitorous princess, banned from her kingdom?

Yes.

Quickly circling the last mistake she could find, or really the first mistake her eye came to after coming back into focus, she pushed it over the table towards the rightful owner, watching as they scanned over all the red. You couldn’t even make out what they had actually written in the first paragraph due to her scribbles.

Their shoulders slumped, “I. . . When I fix them, can I come back to you?” She wanted to say no, she wanted to cancel all her tutoring sessions for the next week but she couldn’t. So she just nodded her head and offered the kid a small discount for the next session, as she really wasn’t 100% there herself.

She watched as they shoved everything in their backpack and took off, leaving her alone with her thoughts. At least for another ten minutes, at least, before her next and final client showed up. She was currently holding all of her sessions outside; the wind blowing her hair into a little dance and kissing her skin felt more freeing than the feeling of stares crawling over her body and whispers assaulting her ears. Whispers of what, she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure if her overactive imagination and paranoia was making her hear her own name or if they were genuinely whispering about her. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to know.

Students were still dallying in the parking lot; some throwing balls back and forth like there wasn’t an actual sports field behind the school, some making out with their significant others like they didn’t have a house to go to, and some, like herself, sitting alone to study like they actually cared about school.

In her stupor, she could make out someone asking to talk, but she assumed that it was directed towards someone else, not bothering to turn around and see who it was. Not until the person said her name.

“Y/N?” Normally, she would’ve turned around to properly address whoever was speaking to her. Normally, she would’ve greeted whoever it was with a smile, maybe a handshake or a hug, and invited them to sit down with her until her next client came. She was raised in a proper household, she had manners.

But this wasn’t a normal case. And that wasn’t just anyone saying her name. She could tell who it was within seconds, the cadence of his voice permanently etched into her brain.

So, in that situation, she froze. Like a deer in headlights, she stared ahead of her, vaguely seeing the football go sailing through the air, and in her peripheral’s, the shadow of a body taking a seat beside her. Uninvited.

“Please.”

It was such an odd time in her brain. Because she could recall just how easily she used to cave into his cute little plea’s, how seeing his pouty face as he begged her to give in had filled her with such a strong sense of adoration that she felt like she was floating. Now she could also recall just how easily he denied her when she pleaded, how seeing him push her out the drama room door felt like he had stapled an eviction notice to her heart. She could feel the want to give in, to turn to him and promise to make things better. Normally that would be enough to make her do it. But, again, this wasn’t a normal situation. The blue monster was turning red, tendrils of smoke puffing down her spine and overcoming the want for them to work out with the want to tell him to shove it. Neither side won, and she just sat there, knee bouncing as her mind and heart fought a war inside her. It wasn’t her place to make things better anymore, she had already tried. But she couldn’t imagine treating him like he had her, even if he deserved it.

As if he could read her mind, he nodded, leaning forward on the table to try to catch her attention. If only he knew that every nerve ending in her body was standing on end for him, how every neuron in her brain felt like they were on a live wire that was Eddie Munson’s guitar string. Even if she wasn’t looking his way, she was still acutely aware of every move he made, every breath he took, and even his hair being ruffled by the wind.

The rings glinting in the sunlight was what made her look over, though. Specifically the ring he had on his ring finger— the one that she had bought him. It was a gift for them making it a month together. Eddie had freaked out because he hadn’t got her anything, mainly because he didn’t get the hype of a monthiversary, not because he hadn’t remembered. When the next month came around and he had brought her handpicked flowers and a guitar pick with their initials messily engraved on them, she had laughed, explaining how two months isn’t really celebrated but that she loved them. He had started complaining about how monthiversary’s are complicated but she kissed him mid-sentence and took the flowers to a vase. She still had the dried petals in a box in her bedroom and the guitar pick in her jewelry box for safe keeping.

“I couldn’t take it off.” He had noticed her staring at the ring, lost in thought. So lost that she hadn’t noticed that he had begun to fiddle with the ring nervously. She raised an eyebrow at how easily it spun around, clearly not too tight for him to be unable to remove it. He caught that, too. “I mean. I could. But I.. couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Didn’t want to.”

Finally she lifted her gaze to meet his, the wide puppy stare a punch to her already beaten gut, “Why?” It was the first thing she had said to him since the breakup, and yet it summed up everything she wanted to know. Why couldn’t he take the ring off? Why didn’t he trust her? Why didn’t he talk to her? Why didn’t he love her enough to make things work?

She could see his Adam’s apple bob with a harsh swallow, almost like he had picked up on her thoughts regarding this, too.

“Well, you see, it’s my favorite.” The same goofy grin she had come to love developed on his face, his hair sweeping across his forehead as he dipped his head down. He was trying to be cute. He was trying to be cute to hide the fact that his fingers were now tapping against the table nervously, much like her bouncing leg. He was trying to be cute to hide the fact that he was as upset over everything as she was. If he knew her enough to pick up on her thoughts, then she surely knew him enough to do the same. And there was no way he was as upset as she was.

Anger finally took hold of her as she crammed her studying books, index cards, and red pen in her bag, swinging it over her shoulder as she stood up. The momentum nearly caused her to stumble but she used it to propel herself towards the school doors.

“Yeah, well. Things change. Find a new one.”

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

After managing to find her last client and change location to the library, Y/N had been homeward bound and had never felt better about it. The brief encounter she had with Eddie had left her shaken and she just wanted the comfort of her blankets and whatever sad song she could find on the radio.

Though, the next day brought even more shaking encounters and by the time lunchtime rolled around, she was thoroughly exhausted and on edge. She had nearly failed her first period exam, hadn’t been able to answer a question that her second period teacher had asked due to her being zoned out, and then she nearly tripped in the hallway, losing some papers in her skirmish to regain balance. She didn’t even try to get them back as she hurried to the cafeteria, eager to eat mediocre pizza and not be bothered.

But, as all bad days go, they get worse.

“Hey, Y/N! Hey!” She could barely contain her groan as she lifted her head to see Jason waving his hand for her to join his group in the line. The people who stood between her and him gave her warning glares, as if to say ‘don’t you dare skip again’. She had no intentions of doing so.

“Hey, Jason. I’m good here, thanks though.” While she was angry at Jason and his inability to shut up, most of her anger lay with Eddie, who bought into the cheap rumor without hesitation. Though, she still didn’t want to be near Jason or his posse of dumbasses.

“They’re not going to say anything. Right, guys? She can come up here.” He asked, his voice carrying over the other conversations taking place as he addressed the glaring individuals. None of them went against Jason’s order, though none looked happy about it, either.

Y/N was forced to take a deep breath through her nose as she steadied herself. It felt as if she was teetering on a tightrope and either way she fell, she was going to end up having a breakdown. Whether it be from anger or sadness was yet to be determined. In this moment, though, she was about to swan dive into anger.

The tight lipped smile she gave him felt painful on her face as she spoke through gritted teeth, “I’m fine here, Jason.”

But, as all choices given by egotistical jocks go, you don’t really have a choice.

Y/N soon found herself sandwiched between Jason and his buddies as they came down the line to her, willingly giving up their space near the trays just to grate her nerves even more.

“You know something, N/N?” Jason started, looking down at her with his pretty smile she was sure had other girls swooning, “You’re a saint. A real saint.”

The thin line of frazzled nerves that he was sawing away at was about to snap, but she decided to play his game. Not like she had been given an actual choice in the matter. “And why is that, Jason?” She refused to call him by some nickname that his friends usually used— they weren’t friends and she wasn’t going to appease his feelings by pretending otherwise. She wasn’t even looking his way as she moved forward in line.

“Tutoring that freak.”

At that moment, Y/N swore she could see red. His friends were howling with laughter, he himself seemed smug with his insulting joke. She couldn’t take another step forward as she processed what he said, and each time it played over in her mind, the angrier she got.

“What?” By now the line had moved up more and Jason was pushing at her back, but she was a brick wall and she wasn’t moving. Not until he repeated what he had said, not until she knew she had heard him right.

“Oh, c’mon. It’s not like he can pay you. You’re doin’ it pro-bono right? You’re a saint. I guess even devil worshippers need to graduate.” Not only had she heard him right, but he was only making matters worse. She didn’t pay much mind to the students behind her once again complaining about how she needed to move or Jason trying once more to push her body forward.

He had successfully sawed her nerves away. She was now hurtling towards the pit of anger, happily so. Anger beat sadness, and she was about to beat him.

“Go fuck yourself, Jason,” was the first thought she had to say, one she had been dying to get out since she first realized what he had been spreading about her. His eyes went wide at the sudden quip and his friends started letting out low “ooh”s.

“You can’t talk to me..”

“I can talk to you however I want to. But God knows from your essays that you probably won’t understand anything I say. So let me spell it out for you,” she started, feeling as if the world around her was shaking, and yet it was only her body as rage coursed through her. “We are not friends. We did not sleep together- I would never sleep with someone like you…”

His hands threw up in defense as he took another step back, away from the step Y/N hadn’t known she had taken forward, “Whoa. I never said we slept together, dude.”

The interruption was enough to make her jab a pointed finger into his chest, sending him another step back. “Don’t you dare interrupt me. I am talking. Eddie Munson is /not/ a freak. He is a better man than you could even dream of being. I am not tutoring him. And you can shove your money right up your-”, she didn’t get the chance to finish her rampage before someone was grabbing her around the waist, pulling her away from a red faced Jason Carver.

“Put me down! I said put me down, asshole!” She yelled, not caring how her voice bounced off the walls, or how everyone in the cafeteria was staring at her like she had lost her mind. Maybe she had, but she didn’t care much about that either.

“I know I’ve made some mistakes but I don’t think name calling is necessary.” It took a moment before she could pinpoint that voice in the midst of her anger but once she did, she thrashed harder in his arms. She felt like a dog backed into a corner, no matter where she ran, she was met with people who pissed her off.

And a corner is exactly where she found herself as Eddie deposited her in a janitors closet, shutting the door behind them. It was dark for only a second before the dim light filled about half of the room. Dirty mops, cans of antiseptic spray, cobwebs, and a very amused Eddie stared back at her as she looked around.

The second his lips pulled up in a smirk, she exploded, “Why would you do that? I was-“

“You was’ going to get yourself expelled.”

“Stop interrupting me!” She flung her arms up in exasperation, seething at her sentence being cut off once again. Though when her fingers made contact with metal shelves and brick walls, she was quick to gasp and pull them back into her chest.

Much to his credit, Eddie hadn’t even flinched during her yelling, he had simply leaned against the opposite wall, watching with the ever-amused smile and raised eyebrow. He even shook his head with a chuckle as she nursed her now stinging hands.

“Let me see,” he started, inching forward with a hand outstretched to her. His rings didn’t glint as much in this light but she could tell he was still wearing the one she gave him. Tucking her hands closer into her chest, she shook her head. Her anger gave way to stubbornness, nostrils flaring with each deep breath and her chin lifting up to give some semblance of strength. Much to her chagrin, it only amused him more.

“Come on, sweetheart. Just let me see.” At the pet name, she froze for a moment, thinking back to all the times he had called her that before. Eddie wasn’t big on cliche pet names, he liked to create his own for her. Though sweetheart was a personal favorite of hers, so he had a tendency to use it on her. It always worked for getting her attention and making her feel more comforted and loved. Even now, even while dealing with a hundred different thoughts, that one word was like a bridge straight to her heart.

Without a word, but with a dramatic huff, she held out her hands, letting him see the damage for himself. He was very gentle when taking her hands into his, the warmth of his rings pressing into her skin like a beacon from home. His fingertips gracefully traced over the little red marks now marring her skin, like any sort of pressure would cause her to crack and fall apart.

The softness of the moment had entirely eradicated her anger and she was left with an ache where it once was. With her hands still held in his, she couldn’t fiddle with her fingers in nervousness, and when she tried to pull them away, he tightened his hold. Yet it was nothing compared to the way Jason’s hand had been firmly nudging her at lunch or how he held her wrist. It was like Eddie had found the next greatest DND figurine, used and a bit worn, but beautiful, ethereal, sacred. Something he was meant to protect— and he had failed doing so. But now he was making up for it.

His lips pressed against the red marks before she could question him, his forehead resting against her wrist as he just stood there, not saying anything, but not needing to. The amusement from earlier was long gone and was replaced with something Y/N couldn’t quite place.

Her lips parted for a moment as she thought over what to say: ‘I’m fine”, “We should go”, “Thanks for stopping me from getting expelled but god I wish I could have decked Jason just once’?

What came out was something entirely different: a whisper of his name. Saying it any louder would have broken whatever spell had been placed over them, and she didn’t know that she had it in her to do so. Or if she could even raise her voice again- she was so tired of yelling, of trying to be heard and listened to.

“Please,” was all he said in return, his voice just as low as hers. He finally dropped her hands but it was only so he could wrap his arms around her waist, tugging her into his chest; into a hug that she had yearned for since last week; into the arms she never thought she’d feel herself in again.

Vulnerability. That was the new feeling, what had replaced his amusement. The room was warm but the goosebumps on her skin still arose, her heart raced like she had run a mile and yet she was standing still, time felt like it had reversed a few weeks to when they were still together, when they were still Y/N and Eddie. And yet, it was still the same day, same hour, and the same broken up situation.

“Eddie…” she repeated his name, feeling his hair tickle her lips as they moved, smelling his cologne sneaking into her nose, and hearing the way he took his own shuddering breath, terrified of what the next steps would bring.

A few seconds later, Y/N found herself back in her own space, Eddie standing against the wall like he had been moments before, “I know you didn’t sleep with Jason.”

Even though the anger had long since disappeared, she still felt snarky as she shot back, “Oh, really? News to me.”

The smile he gave back was one of mock amusement, one of barely concealed pain, “I deserve that. I… I don’t know why I didn’t talk to you about it. I’m sorry.” He was pushing away from the wall in a flash, pacing the short width he was given as he raked his fingers through his hair, his face scrunched up in a look of concentration and anxiety.

“Sorry doesn’t-“

“I know, sorry doesn’t cut it. I /know/ that, Y/N. Why do you think it’s taken me so long to approach you? I had to do better than that. I had to think of more than ‘I’m sorry.’” He rushed out, not caring that he had interrupted her again. He just had to get it out of his brain before he lost it, before he became a stumbling, stuttering mess and wasn’t able to fix things.

“I still don’t have anything. Because nothing will magically sweep this away. I can’t roll dice and overcome this. But seeing you today in there with him, I knew I had to step in. And I’m sorry.” He rattled off, finally coming to a stop as he looked down at her, looking like a puppy who had just been kicked or left on the side of the road, searching desperately for its home. And even though he didn’t say it, Y/N was his home.

She couldn’t continue staring into his eyes when he looked like that, all she wanted to do was to grab him back into her arms and never let go. So she looked down, she folded her arms over her chest and she looked anywhere but him, anywhere but where she really wanted to look. “Why did you believe it?”

His laugh was dry, humorless, and forced. It was so unlike his normal behavior around her that her heart ached. “I didn’t. Well, I didn’t want to. I came back to the lunchroom that day and I saw you sitting there, him whispering in your ear. And then him again at your locker. And every time, I could just hear him telling his friends how he kissed you in payment for tutoring. I felt.. I felt. Pissed off. Hurt. Like the runt in a family of giants. Or a magicless spell caster. I can’t blame you if you wanted to be with someone like him.” The moment he started speaking in DND terms, she snorted. That was more like the Eddie she knew, the one she missed. This made him halt in his tangent as he looked at her, clearly confused and worried about her laughter.

“Jason Carver paid me in cash. Extra cash, actually. He stayed across the table at all times, he didn’t ever touch me. I wouldn’t have let him. I wouldn’t have let anyone who wasn’t you touch me. If you’re a magicless spell caster than Jason is.. is a tree stump.” She was never good with DND terms, but she was trying to get through to him in any way she could.

Her words seemed to only make him feel worse as he threw his head back in a groan, hands dragging down his face roughly. His rings left momentary red streaks on his skin. “I know that, too. I’m just a dumbass and I ruined it, didn’t I? I can’t make this better.”

Hearing him so down on himself had Y/N pausing, watching him with a studious eye, analyzing everything he did. His face had returned to the normal color, though his eyes were still wide and pleading. His hair was a mess from being tugged at so much from his own hands. He was fumbling with his rings again as he anxiously awaited her response. His body was wound so tight, she was sure he was going to spring apart in a seconds notice.

Now it was Y/N’s turn to inch forward, hands outstretched slightly, “I wouldn’t say you ruined things but,” she started, watching as his head snapped around so fast she was sure she heard a crack, “it will take time to get back to how we were. You have to work on trusting me, Eddie. Relationships can’t work without trust.”

“I do trust…,” at her look, he trailed off, nodding his head again, this time much slower than before. Maybe she really had heard a crack earlier and now he was feeling the consequences. “Okay, okay, yeah. I’ll work on it. I promise.”

“And promise me that you won’t listen to bullshit rumors without talking to me?” She asked, feeling his hands snake into hers, fingertips tapping against the inside of her wrist, like he was waiting for the go ahead sign to fully grab her hand.

“I promise, I swear.”

In the beat of silence that spread between them, Y/N felt her heart building up hope again. The strings she thought she left back in the drama room were wrapping around the beating organ with a new found excitement, the cracks starting to form together once more. There was work to be done, yes, but she truly believed it was going to be okay.

“Okay,” she murmured more to herself, testing it out, feeling how her heart soared at her acceptance, “yeah, okay. We can work on it.”

That must have been the sign he was needing because he was soon pulling her back into his arms, forehead connecting with hers with a little more force than intended. Neither commented on the slight bump, both entirely caught up in being back in each other’s arms, no fight or rumor or dumb jock standing between them.

The shadows from the dim light cast deep shadows over Eddie’s face, making his eyes seem darker than normal. It had Y/N’s stomach flipping in nerves. Who would’ve thought that only a few days apart could have her feeling like she was about to have her first kiss again?

Who would’ve also thought that right when everything was about to be made right again, they would be interrupted? Not them, for sure.

But here they were, the lighting from the hall now creeping into their little hiding spot and a familiar redhead standing with her hand on the knob.

“Oh,” she started to turn away but soon turned back, like leaving without an explanation was more awkward than speaking, “Dustin told me what happened in the lunchroom and I wanted to check on you. But, I see everything’s good. Great. Okay.” Pointing at them like a finger gun, Max went to shut the door once more. The shadows that had been starting to crowd around the couple again were soon chased away, though, as she pulled the door back open.

“Max!” Y/N laughed, part of her finding her new friend’s insistence and indecisiveness funny, but another part wanting to kiss Eddie and hide away in their bubble for a short while longer.

“Sorry, sorry! Just sayin’. Eddie, don’t be a dick next time, understand?” With her headphones hanging off her neck, red hair pulled back in a low pony, and her eyes narrowed on Eddie’s figure, Y/N had no doubt Max could and would have some choice words with him next time around. When Eddie just laughed, Max pursed her lips and leaned her head closer, refusing to leave until he said it.

Taking the hint, he curtly nodded his head towards her, “Understood.”

Seeming satisfied with his answer, she briefly turned her attention back to Y/N with a teasing smile, “Don’t forget, you promised me more ice cream after school.”

Finally, with the door swinging shut and the noise from the hallway being muffled, Y/N turned to Eddie with a shy smile, remembering key components of her time as a single woman.

“Eddie, I have to tell you something.” Her teeth dug into her bottom lip as she felt him pull away, just enough to fully look at her face. “I kind of spent half of my savings buying me and Max ice cream.”

Instead of responding like she had expected, Eddie laughed. It wasn’t like the dry one from earlier; this was filled with happiness, humor, and maybe a hint of teasing.

“I was a…” whatever she was going to say was cut off as his lips pressed against hers, his arms tightening around her waist as he held her close. Every thought, every word, every syllable left her brain as she clung to him, fingers tangling in his hair, back bent slightly as he leaned over her, not an inch of space between their bodies.

It was perfect, Y/N swore she could see clouds and Cupid himself flying around them. Bright light shone down on them like the heavens approved of this match.

Well, that was what she was choosing to believe as the principal led them into the bright hallway, students all around whispering and pointing at the couple with messy hair, puffy lips, and intertwined hands.

There would be rumors of this, Y/N was sure. ‘Eddie Munson and Y/N Y/L/N caught making out in a broom closet!’ But it was a rumor that she was actually looking forward to hearing spread around— because it was absolutely correct.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

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#eddie x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fics #eddie munson fic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson love #eddie munson #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic

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urprettylittlething · 6 months

Text

Creamy Treat

Yandere - Gojo Satoru x CursedKitty! Reader x Geto Suguru

A/N - More CursedKitty content for you guyss, this one was a request from a lovely anon <33 I apologise if its terrible I've literally never given a bj before in my life, but alas I hope you enjoy, this one is more Gojo centric since I've done one for Geto, but he does appear at the end, someone also requested on ao3 for a Gojo centric one, also so sorry I take so long to do them, its just how I run lmao, Thank you guys so much for all the love so far <3333 I love you guys so so much, please leave comments I love reading them and replying <33 My inbox is open if you guys have any more ideas, doesn't have to just be for cursed Kitty, but I also have a little Sukuna x cursed spirit animal reader somewhere in my notes if anyone is interested ;), I'm also very big on Toji right now too

summary - Gojo teaches Kitty how to give a blow job.

warnings - Dubcon/Noncon-ish, this one is more heavy on extremely dubious consent, he gets a little rough, lots of praise though, he gets a little scary for like 2 seconds, very vague references to punishment, very vague yandere vibes here, cum, and cock lol, Kitty gives a bj, he fucks her mouth, also shoves his fingers in her mouth, he rubs her ears, Kitty purrs around his cock, he pins her arms down too, I think that's everything let me know if it isn't

genre - Oneshot drabble thing

wc - 1.8K

~spelling and grammar already fixed~ (hopefully)

Gojo was sprawled out on the couch, head leaned back against the top while staring at the ceiling, arms dangled on either side over the edge of the couch and his legs were spread wide in front of him. And over his lap was their precious little kitten.

She was laying belly down on the couch, ass and legs over one of his legs while her head perched on the other.

She was dozing, and Gojo was bored. Suguru had left on a little solo mission around an hour ago. Gojo wasn’t worried, it wasn’t meant to be difficult or anything and Suguru said he would stop for food on the way back. But he was taking forever.

At least in Gojos eyes.

His pretty kitty was happily dreaming the time away, tail gently curled around her waist, ears twitching and flickering every few minutes. Mouth open a little as she breathed. When he leaned over to check on her he caught the briefest glimpses of her tongue resting in her mouth. Supple and pink, glistening a little from her saliva.

The temptation was strong, to just shove his fingers in her mouth and watch her choke on them. Spluttering and gagging and drooling. And with that thought came more, shoving his cock down her throat. Having her choke and splutter on that. Her pretty little tongue lapping up his cum when he finishes.

His head rolls back again when he feels himself straining in his pants. He can’t fuck her pretty pussy since him and Suguru did that a few hours ago. She’s probably still sensitive and he doesn’t feel like breaking their shiny new toy just yet.

Maybe he could fuck her mouth after all. All she’d need is some practice.

His head picks itself back up again as he gazes down at her. Fluffy ears still twitching atop her head. With one hand he reaches down and brushes his fingertips against the soft plush of her lips.

That little pink tongue of hers pokes out to lick her lips before retreating. Gojo huffs before gently prodding his fingers into her mouth slowly. Sliding down the length of her tongue at a comfortable distance, not choking her just yet.

He leaves his fingers still, feeling her tongue caress his fingers in curiosity at the new intrusion. After a few seconds Kitty whines, eyes fluttering open ever so slightly.

This is where he starts thrusting his fingers in her mouth, gently at first before picking up speed the more she awakes.

“C’mon Kitty. Time to wake up. Got a really big problem here for you to take care of.”

Kitty swallows reflexively around his fingers from the saliva build up. Sucking on them gently in her confusion, tail uncoiling itself from around her waist and ears twitching to life atop her head, perking up when Gojo utters some more words.

He tilts his head slightly, “Now that you're nice and awake, how about a treat for my pretty Kitty? You’ve been so good lately, haven't you?” His fingers slide out of her mouth.

She immediately perks up. Ears alert and tail swishing around behind her at the word ‘treat’.

Gojo smirks, picking her up from under her arms and depositing her on the floor in front of him. She sits down comfortably on her knees.

“It’s a lollipop, a nice big lollipop just for you! It even comes with a special surprise, with cream inside. But you have to work for it!” He tells her, looking down at the eager Kitty while spreading his legs even further.

When Kitty nods her head with her eyes shining, only really understanding the word ‘treat’ and ‘cream’, he reaches down and tugs his trousers over his ass and partially down his thighs. Just enough for his hand to slip into his underwear and tug his heavy, leaking cock out.

Kitty sits up even more eagerly now, recognising the situation even just a little, as well as his cock. Gojo knows that they’ve fucked you a few times already, and he knows that you at least have somewhat of an idea of where the thick white stuff they leave in, or on, you comes from. But he can pretend a little, teaching Kitty how to give a blowjob is getting him all worked up.

Kitty is sitting up and staring at his cock while he pumps it quickly to get himself going. She’s aware that it’s what gives her pleasure sometimes, but she’s never really seen it. Stopped to look at it or anything.

When he feels nice and ready, he coaxes her down. “Go on baby, give it a lick, nice and gently.”

She stares for a second, watching his hard cock throb, flushed a pretty pink with little beads of liquid gathering at the top. She perches her hands on his knees, leaning up to flick out her tongue and take a quick lick.

Gojo’s breath catches for just a second before he urges her a little more, “C’mon Kitty, gotta do more.” His eyes are starting to become lidded, a light flush taking over his cheeks as he settles further into the cushions below him.

Her ears perk up in interest before she takes another little lick. Then another. And then longer ones, more harsher ones. The slight salty taste along with the texture had her intrigued.

Gojo had his eyes locked on her face, on her little pink tongue gliding up his cock. Starting almost from the base and finishing with a flick just under the head. His eyes closed for a second, enjoying the ministrations from her tongue.

On the head of his cock, little droplets of precum had gathered up enough so begin sliding slowly down the head. Catching Kittys interest. And after one more long lick up the length of his cock she leans up to put her lips over the head of his cock and suck.

Gojos eyes flew open, his hips thrusting up at the unexpected pleasure and cock twitching in delight.

Kitty had pulled back for a second, taking the time to taste him on her tongue before she leant forward again when more started to form. This time when she wrapped her lips around his head and sucked he was prepared. Breath only hitching before getting deeper. The light flush took over his face making its way down his neck.

He watched the confused face she was making before she tried sucking harder. He grunted, “Gotta’ use your tongue kitty.”

Her ears swivelled in the direction of his voice, eyes looking up at him from her position on the floor, the head of his cock being suckled on like an ice lolly.

He could feel the way the tip of her tongue hesitantly reached out to glide along what's currently in her mouth.

His head leaned back again, closing his eyes and just enjoying the pleasure he was getting. It was fun not having to do the work all the time.

After a few minutes of this Kitty was becoming more and more agitated it seemed. He hums, “Want your cream, huh Kitty?”

She pulled away, lips now swollen and red, strings of drool pulling its way between his cock and her mouth. She nods, ears almost downturned from not getting her creamy treat yet.

Gojos mouth suddenly twists up into a smirk, a thought has entered his head. “Okay baby. You’ll get your cream.” He suddenly sits up from his slouched position, reaching down and grasping onto her wrists, pulling her hands under each leg on either side. Effectively pinning her arms down, making them immobile.

“Lean forward for me. There's a good girl. Gonna’ let me fuck your tiny mouth, are you? Of course you are. My good little Kitty.” Gojo murmurs, one hand cupping the back of her head and guiding it forward.

With her mouth already open and lips wet with drool it was easy to just slide his cock right into it. “Now, don't use your teeth. Or you’ll get punished, got it?” His voice had taken an edge to it, her eyes peering up at his while she blinked.

His eyes were shadowed, a serious aura taking over him whilst her ears flattened. A small whimper hummed around his cock before small nods were given. He knew she got the message.

He hums, “Good girl.” Hand burying into her hair at the back of her head before he started thrusting into her mouth.

Gently at first, before gradually picking up speed, the amount of drool made for an easy slide in and out of her mouth. And with her hands tucked away under his spread legs, she couldn’t push him away or scratch at him either.

Sure, he could feel her wrists squirming under his thighs. And sure, she was having trouble breathing. Choking on the little air she was getting, tears building up in her eyes before spilling over. Her ears kept flattened to the sides of her head, tail swishing wildly behind her.

But god, did it feel good.

He was still being kind though, not thrusting all of his cock into her mouth. He reached forward, bringing the other hand to one of her ears and rubbing. “My pretty Kitty.”

The second he felt the vibrations beginning to hum around his cock his eyes widened.

Gojos just found his new favourite thing.

With the gradually frantic thrusting, paired with the purring from him kneading into the base of one of her ears, he knew he wouldn't last very long.

His breathing grew deeper, sweat beading upon his brows while they were furrowed. Grunts and praises spilling from his mouth as his balls tightened and his cock twitched.

“Gonna’ get your cream. Give it to you. Been such a good little Kitty for me. Perfect… Fuck. Good girl.. Good, fucking-.. Fuck!” He cursed, throwing his head back as his hips stuttered while emptying his load into Kitty's mouth and down her throat.

Cock sliding out from between her lips he looked back down at her. Hand paused in kneading at her fluffy ear. And what a sight she was. Face red and eyes watery, lips puffy and wet, saliva glistening on her chin, all as she sputtered and gasped.

His other hand that was buried in her hair at the back loosened its tight grip, gently threading through the strands as she leant her head against his knee. Gradually gaining her breath back.

“So good. Pretty Kitty.” He praised gently, almost murmuring before a voice spoke up from the doorway.

“Well wasn’t that just a sight.” Suguru practically purred.

Gojo turned his head to look at him, raising a single eyebrow in response.

Geto huffed with a smile on his face, the plastic bag full of snacks rustling as he set them on the floor. He stepped forward into the room, reaching for his zipper.

“Come now, Kitty. Open wide for me.”

#cursedkitty #geto x reader #gojo x reader #yandere geto suguru #yandere gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto suguru #gojo saturo #yandere geto #yandere gojo

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headkiss · 2 years

Text

something in the air

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: you’re convinced you hate steve, and that he hates you right back. during your camping trip with friends, you find out just how wrong you’ve been.

word count: 13.9k

warnings: smut, mentions of a bad home life/family relationships, one bed (tent) trope, enemies to lovers (ish), and a sprained ankle

a/n: okay this one took forever so thank u for your patience and i hope it was at least partially worth the wait! please let me know what you think and reblog if you enjoyed, it helps a bunch!!!!

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Steve Harrington is a menace. And not in a good way.

For some reason, he insists on making your life more difficult. It couldn’t be for nothing, but you didn’t know exactly why. Maybe it’s because you tend to do the same to him, maybe you liked to get under his skin just as much.

He hung out with assholes in high school, and by proxy, he was also an asshole. Plus, you were really close with Nancy throughout school, and when she and Steve broke up, it didn’t really help his case. You didn’t know the full story, though.

You had no idea that Nancy cheated on Steve with Jonathan, only that she had feelings for him. You didn’t know about his parents and how it all affects him. You didn’t know that he dumped his friends so quickly after upsetting Nancy, that he worked hard to make it better. You didn’t know how much he cared.

You barely knew him. All you knew is that he got on your nerves. You couldn’t stand him.

It went both ways, though. Steve found you irritating and he hated that you had the same group of friends now. Because it meant he had to be around you almost all the time.

He wasn’t aware, however, that you struggled in school to have friends that weren’t Nancy, and when they dated, he sort of took her away from you, cut your time with her and you were alone a lot. Logically, it’s not his fault, but it’s how you felt. He didn’t know that you had a hard time at home like he did.

Maybe, for both of you, the feud was an escape, a way to channel your negative energy towards each other and not anyone or anything else.

After graduating, you applied for a job at Family Video, only for it to be taken by none other than Steve Harrington. You knew Robin worked there, too, but she was actually your friend.

That left you with a job at the grocery store that you hated but had to keep. It sucked.

Again, maybe it’s not his fault, but you were usually mad at him anyways. Why not add another layer to it?

On your days off, you spent your time at Family Video, though. You didn’t like being at home, and Nancy was still busy with high school for another year, so you hung out with Robin. Unfortunately, hanging out with Robin often meant hanging out with Steve, too.

That’s where you found yourself now, walking through the glass doors into the video store.

“Hi Robin,” you said as you walked up to the counter.

“Hey!” She noticed the takeout bag in your hand, “oh my gosh, you’re the best.”

“No hi for me, babe?”

“Fuck off, Steve.”

He scoffed. “This is my workplace, actually. I can't leave.”

“Yeah, I’m painfully aware of that.”

“Why don’t you ever just go home? You don’t need to be here.”

You tense up at that one, because he’s right. You don’t need to be there, but the last place you want to go is home these days. You roll your shoulders and try to shake it off.

“Anyway. Robin’s taking her break now. Bye.”

Robin just shrugs as you pull her away into the back room.

Steve is left thinking about why you reacted that way to what he said. It wasn’t the worst thing he’s said to you by far, and he knows it, so why was it enough to make you wince a little? And why the fuck does he care?

Once you were alone Robin glanced at you. Noting your off behaviour due to the home comment. She hates that two of her closest friends don’t get along, and she thinks she has a plan to change that.

“He doesn’t know,” she says. “About…you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” And you did, but that didn’t stop it from stinging. You just wanted to stop thinking about it. “So, how’s work going?”

“Ugh, it’s so boring. This food helps.”

“Not even my presence? Just the food?”

“Oh. You’re okay too, I guess.”

The both of you laugh, and you’re reminded of just how great Robin’s company can be. She takes your mind off of things and you wish you could show her how much you appreciate it.

So, when she asks you if you want to go catch a movie that night, you say yes.

You show up a little early, making sure you meet Robin outside before the movie starts.

However, she wasn’t showing up. And Robin wasn’t the type to be late, or blow you off without an excuse. So, you just went inside without her. You wandered around for a bit, giving her another chance to show up but she never did.

A call of your name grabbed your attention, but the voice made you roll your eyes. Why was Steve here?

“What are you doing here, babe?”

People would think the nickname was an endearment, something sweet. When it was coming from Steve, directed at you, though, it was almost like an insult. Spat out and accompanied by a frown of an angry pinch of his brows.

“Supposed to meet Robin, not that it’s any of your business.”

He chuckles, like he knows something you don’t. “Actually, it is my business. ‘Cause I was supposed to meet Robin, too.”

“She’s gonna be the death of me.”

“That’s something we can agree on.”

She must’ve thought putting you two together unknowingly would solve the issues. It certainly wasn’t that simple, but bless her for trying.

“Well. I’m not gonna give up some popcorn and a movie, Steve.”

“Neither am I. I’m already here, so…”

He wasn’t going to leave? Why? You really didn’t think seeing the latest rom-com would interest him, but then again, Robin got him here somehow. She thought she was so slick, you’re sure of it.

“Fine.”

“Fine,” he parrots back.

You get your snacks and go to the screening room, all without talking to Steve. You’re actually trying to ignore his presence as a whole. He’s trailing behind you the entire time, though, so it’s not that easy. When you sit down, he sits beside you, and you glare.

“Why are you beside me?”

“It’s the seat on my ticket, babe. Where else would I go?”

“Seriously? Do you see the amount of empty seats?” You gestured around the theatre to prove your point.

In return, he just leaned back in his seat and let out a dramatic sigh, like it was the most comfortable he’d been all day when you know the seats are lumpy and stiff. You turn your face to the screen and go back to ignoring him.

He was a dork at the movies, you found. And it hadn’t even started.

Steve giggled at the stupidest commercials, would nudge you anytime he found a joke funny just to annoy you more. He ate his popcorn in giant handfuls where most of it would just land in his lap anyway. You even moved seats, leaving two between you and him, and he just moved over with you.

Fucking Steve.

“Would you move back over?”

“But the view’s so much better here.”

“Insufferable,” you mutter as you move back to your original seat. He tries to follow again but you push him back down with a hand on his chest, you ignore how it feels under your palm. “Stay here like a good boy.”

His heart rate picks up and he prays you can’t feel it. He kinda thought that was hot, but he shakes it out of his head before he thinks about it too much, what it might mean. He looks at you from under his lashes, taunting. “What if I wanna be bad, babe?”

You stand up fully and take your hand off of him. You don’t know if the comment was meant to sound so dirty, but you don’t even want to think about it. The idea of Steve in any way that’s more than a pain in your ass makes you shudder. The opening credits of the film grab your attention.

“You stay here. I’m gonna go there.” You don’t give him enough time to respond.

He watches you walk away, and he decides he’ll let you have at least some peace until he goes over and bothers you again. He’s itching to go and sit next to you, and he convinces himself it’s because of his pent up frustration from the work day, nothing else. You’re the only one he can argue with that will give it right back to him. He hates it, but he craves it all the same.

It’s about halfway through the movie when Steve sits next to you again. You shake your head, though you're surprised he waited this long.

“Thought I told you to stay,” you whisper rather aggressively at him.

“Yeah, well I don’t think you really hold any authority over me, babe.”

“Nobody trained you as a kid to listen?”

“You’re talking like I’m a dog.”

“Might as well be.”

He scoffed, maybe a little loudly, but he didn’t care. You tested him constantly, and he wasn’t sure what it was about you that made him so frustrated all of the time. Maybe it was the fact that you never even gave him a chance to be civil with you, staring him down and rolling your eyes the first time you even met. Maybe it was the way he knew you were a good friend to others, he saw it with Robin and Nancy and everyone else, just not him.

Either way, you made his blood boil, so much so that he often thought about you when you weren’t around. The things you’d say and the looks you’d give him. You never left his mind and it infuriated him.

“You’re a real pain, you know that?”

“That's all you got for me, Steve?” You blinked at him with an innocent smile.

“You know-” he’s cut off by multiple people in the theatre shushing him.

“I tried to tell him, guys. So sorry.”

Despite people telling you to be quiet, you and Steve only last about two minutes next to each other before whisper-fighting again. It gets bad enough that you’re asked to leave.

As much as you know you’re both at fault, you feel fine blaming him.

“Seriously, Steve?” You spoke harshly at him once you’re outside. “You couldn’t just stay two seats away and let me watch the damn movie?”

“I didn’t want to watch it, so I talked to you instead. What’s so bad about that?”

“Oh don’t play innocent with me.”

“Fine. No, I couldn’t. You piss me off and I just wanted to hangout with Robin, not deal with you yet again today.”

“You’re not dealing with me. I can deal with myself, and I wanted to be with Robin too, asshole. Don’t get that twisted.”

“Trust me. You never let me fucking forget how little you want to be around me.”

“Because this is what happens!” You’re tired, and you don’t feel like arguing with him anymore. “Fuck this, I’m going home. Thanks for ruining my night, Harrington.”

He almost offers you a ride home. He knows you took the bus, you usually do. And he also knows that you hate the bus, he hears you say it to Robin enough. Then, he thinks about sitting next to you for longer and decides against it.

“Ditto,” he spits your name back at you. Not ‘babe,’ not any other nickname.

Once you're home and safely in your room, after the usual shit from your parents, you dial Robin’s number. She picks up on the third ring.

“Heyyy,” she sounds guilty, and she should.

“I’m gonna end you, Robs. What the hell?”

“I’m sorry! I just wanted you and Steve to get along and I thought maybe forcing you two to spend time together would help.”

She says it in a rush, her rambly way of speaking and you feel bad for being angry with her when you know she had good intentions, but she lied and you hated being lied to. Even if it was a small one.

“Robin, he got us kicked out of the fucking theatre.”

“You mean you both got kicked out?”

You sputter. You know she’s right but you hate to admit it.

“Fine, whatever. Still. That was torture, Robin. Torture!”

“I just want you guys to be civil, at least.”

“Maybe you should talk to Steve, then,” you hate that even when he’s not around, you can’t avoid him. “He’s just as guilty as I am.”

“I know that, and I will. I have another thing to bring up, actually.”

You’re eager to change the subject, to not talk about Steve Harrington for five fucking minutes so you hum, tell her to go on.

“The camping trip?”

You groan into the phone, “I know we do it every year but I hate camping.” Hate is an exaggeration.

“Nance wanted me to remind you, so that you book off work and don’t make any excuses.”

Fuck. She knows you too well.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll go.”

“Yay! And I really am sorry about the movie, I thought it would work.”

“I wouldn’t be so hopeful if I were you, Robs. Thanks for trying, I think? Bye.”

You hang up and flop backwards onto your bed. Staring at the ceiling, you can’t help but reflect on your day. The way Steve seemed to infiltrate everything you did, how his chest felt under your hand, the way he made you lose your mind like nobody else. You roll over and bury your face in your pillow.

Even when he’s not around, Steve’s able to drive you insane.

He wasn’t feeling much different. Steve had a very similar phone call with Robin where he complained about what she did, asked her what the hell she was thinking, and agreed to the camping trip reluctantly just as you had.

Robin couldn’t believe how similar you two were, and you had no idea.

Steve fell asleep with his face squished in his pillow and your perfume lingering in his senses. It was a fitful sleep.

The days pass by and you manage to avoid Steve as much as possible. When you visit Family Video, you make sure it’s during Robin’s breaks or on a day Steve isn’t meant to be working. When you do see him, you try to stay quiet and simply glare. You don’t feel like wasting energy arguing with him anymore.

Before you know it, it’s time for the camping trip. Nancy writes packing lists for everyone, Jonathan and Argyle are in charge of equipment, Robin plans everything, Steve and Eddie get the tents, and you plan the meals. It really is a whole system, and it’s been working so far and you can only hope it stays that way.

The morning you’re set to leave, you’re extra tired. You barely slept the night before and when you think about it you haven’t been sleeping well for a while. Since the movies with Steve, actually. You’re half asleep sitting on your porch steps next to your luggage when Eddie’s van finally arrives.

The sharp honk of the horn startles you, and you groggily grab your things and make your way over to the car. Of course, you’re not ecstatic to be spending an extended amount of time trapped in a van with Steve, but you’re too sleepy to worry about it too much.

Jonathan and Argyle are taking a car packed full with most of the stuff, while Eddie drives the rest of you along with whatever couldn’t fit in Jonathan’s car.

As you climb in, you don’t really take note of who’s sitting where, only that there’s enough room in the back for you to take a nap, so that’s what you do. You say hi, then, you’re curling up and closing your eyes. Your friends decide not to bother you and let you sleep.

Steve, sitting in the passenger seat next to Eddie, couldn’t stop turning his head to check if you were still asleep. He’d cover it up by saying something to Robin or Nancy, but they could see where his eyes were looking. On one hand, he was glad you were asleep; you seemed tired—more so than usual—and it kept him from having to argue with you. On the other, he sort of wished you’d wake up and say something to him, even if it was an insult. He missed the banter, the way he could let himself go around you.

He’d never say it, he barely even lets himself think it, but he misses the sound of your voice, too.

He didn't even want to wake you up when the van finally got to the campsite, even though the others left him to do just that. You looked so peaceful, the usual scowl you wore around him wiped off your face. He reached a hand out carefully, slowly, like he was almost afraid to wake you. He ran it up your arm first, ignoring the buzz in his fingertips, and shook your shoulder gently.

“Babe, wake up.”

You blinked your eyes open lazily, “oh god. Please don’t make fun of me right now, Steve. I’m too tired.”

He tries not to think of the pinch he feels at the fact that you think he woke you simply to say something to tease you. He doesn’t blame you, but it still bothers him. He pulls his hand away.

“Just telling you we’re here, sleepyhead. Would’ve let you keep sleeping, you know, enjoy the quiet. Everyone else wanted me to wake you up.”

“‘Kay, well your job is done.”

“Yep. Bye.”

He walks away after that, and you think that might’ve been the most awkward interaction you’ve ever had with Steve. He was distracted, maybe. Something on his mind you think. You stretch with a groan and move on.

You finally make your way over to where everyone else is setting up the tents, and Robin greets you with a dramatic hug. “Don’t be mad.”

You pull back and squint at her. “What did you do?”

“So,” she rocks back on her heels. “While you were asleep during the drive, the tent arrangements were sort of made and you and Steve happen to be sharing.”

“What? Why?”

“Well…me and Nancy want to share,” she looks at you shyly, even though you know she’s harboured feelings for a while. “And so the big tent went to three of the guys and Steve volunteered to share the last one with you.”

“He volunteered? You’re joking, right?”

Steve? Voluntarily share a tent with you? There was absolutely no way. The last time you checked, he hated you and vice versa, so what the hell was he trying to do here?

“No, I’m not.”

“Fuck’s sake,” you take a deep breath. You don’t want to ruin Robin and Nancy’s time and to be honest, when you think about it, you know Steve the most out of all of the guys. “Okay. Fine.”

“Thank you!” She then runs off to set up the tent with Nancy.

You look around for Steve and find him by himself, trying to put up the tent that would be yours, too. You make your way over there to help, and maybe to figure out what he was up to with this sharing thing.

“Hey, Harrington?”

He looks up from where he was fiddling with the tent, his forehead slightly damp and his jacket forgotten on the ground. You look at his arms, the way they move, but catch yourself before he notices. What the hell?

“Uh oh. The last name…”

“You agreed to share a tent with me?”

He honestly has no clue how he’ll talk his way out of this one. The truth is, he volunteered to share with you not only because he thinks Robin and Nancy deserve to share, but because he hated the idea of any of the other guys being the ones to sleep next to you. He doesn’t even want to begin to unpack what that might mean.

“Is that gonna be a problem?”

You crossed your arms, “you tell me, Steve. What are you playing at?”

“Wha- nothing. You should be thanking me, actually. ‘Cause Eddie and Argyle smell like weed all the time and Jonathan Sleep talks. I know from last year.”

“Thank you? Oh, Steve my saviour, for saving me from having to sleep next to a sleep talker.. the horror!”

He rolls his eyes, “are you gonna help me with this tent or stand there like a princess, huh?”

You stomp over to help him, sort of petulant and grumpy. You just want to know why he seemed so okay with this. None of it made sense and ever since he woke you up from your sleep in the van, things feel weird with Steve. You aren’t having full on arguments so far, and you don’t even remember the last time you’d gone this long without yelling at least once.

Miraculously, you and Steve actually finish setting up your tent first.

He smiled at you when it was done, and you shook off the feeling in your chest at having that boyish grin of his directed at you. You don’t think he’s ever genuinely smiled at you before.

After the site was set up, you all spent the rest of the day moving your stuff to the right places. It occupied enough of your time that when you were all finished, it was beginning to get dark out, the sun and its beams replaced by the night sky.

That night, nobody was up for cooking a big meal, so you all settled for cooking hot dogs over the fire that Steve built. It was a good night, in the end. Steve sat across the fire from you and the whole group split off into smaller conversations meaning you didn’t really have to interact with him. You still looked at him, though.

Every couple of minutes your gaze would flick over to him, his face lit up by the orange glow of the campfire. He’s always been pretty, you knew that, but you could see it now more than ever. The way he looked when he laughed, his hair a little messy but he didn’t care about it around his friends. It was hard to look away.

He found himself doing the same, stealing glances when you were too preoccupied telling a story or giggling at something someone said. You always grabbed his attention in a way he didn’t understand. He wanted to look at you, to talk to you (even when talking was more like fighting).

As it got later, and the majority of the group had already gone to bed, the rest of you decided to turn in, too. You had sort of been dreading going to bed because you were worried about how having Steve there would be. If you two could get along long enough to sleep.

He let you get changed first, hanging back to put out the fire and make sure everything was cleaned up. He waited a bit before going to bed, lingering by the dying fire and hoping you’d be asleep by the time he joined you in the tent.

You weren’t asleep, but you laid facing away from his sleeping bag and stayed that way while he laid down next to you. It was weird, feeling Steve’s body so close to yours. You could feel the body heat, the slight shift everytime he moved.

Steve had trouble getting comfortable. Something about you being so close to him in this way had his mind running miles a minute. He could smell your shampoo, could see details he never really lingered on before.

When Steve shifted once more you turned onto your back, “will you stop moving? Can’t sleep ‘cause you’re noisy.”

He smiles at the sleep in your voice, he hopes you don’t see it.

“Sorry, babe. Trying to get comfy.”

You expected him to say something along the lines of ‘you can sleep outside if it bothers you so much,’ not to apologize. He’s sweet when he’s tired, it seems, because after that he really does try to stay still.

“Um. ‘S okay,” you turn back onto your side, shutting your eyes and adding, “night, Steve.”

“Goodnight.”

He moves one more time before falling asleep, as slowly and quietly as he can and he winces when the noise of his sleeping bag against the fabric of the tent still rings through the small space. Luckily, you’re already sleeping this time.

At one point during the night, Steve wakes up extra warm. He opens his eyes and the space is dark, but he can see enough to know that the two of you have moved much closer in your sleep.

Your sleeping bags were against each other, Steve’s arm sticking out of his and slung over your waist, his nose almost touching your hair.

It’s an intimate position, especially for the pair of you, and he really doesn’t want to move but he also doesn’t want you to wake up and yell at him for being so close.

He takes another inhale, smelling your hair again before pulling himself away from you and turning to face the opposite direction.

He misses the feeling of you tucked close to him but chooses not to dwell on that.

The first full day was mostly uneventful.

You spent the time hanging out around the campsite reading, or playing cards, or just talking. It was nice to be able to spend so much time with the people you keep close, the friends you know you’ll always have.

As for Steve, things with him are odd. You don’t find yourself arguing with him, more so just teasing and letting things go that you wouldn’t have before. It seems like you both have realized something. What exactly that is, you’re not sure.

For now, you blame the atmosphere. Something in the air is making things shift around, feel different.

At one point you and Robin take a walk, finding the communal bathrooms and some trails that you can take later. She really just wanted to have someone to spill to about how things went with Nancy, and you were more than happy to listen. To get your mind off of a certain boy who wouldn’t seem to leave your thoughts.

The time ticked by lazily, the day filled with laughs and a lightness that you don’t feel when you’re in Hawkins. There are so many horrible people in the town, and while you know there are good ones, too, it’s nice to escape the bad for a couple of days.

Nothing super eventful happened until that night.

You all decided to open up the lunchbox Eddie brought containing joints, some provided by Argyle, which you wouldn’t touch given your tolerance, and smoke by the fire that burned as brightly as the night before.

A couple of joints were lit, passed around the circle until they were finished. Some people would hog them for longer, causing some false anger and light slaps and playful whines to ‘share,’ and ‘be nice!’

Somehow, you and Steve ended up next to each other this time. And somehow, there wasn’t any comment made about it, you both accepted it, welcomed it, even. He was warm, his skin like a space heater that you actually wanted to keep close. You blamed it on the fact that you got chilly easily.

Once, when you tried to reach for the joint from Steve’s grasp, he gave you a teasing grin and held it out of your reach.

“Hand it over, Harrington,” you huffed.

“If you want it, you gotta come get it, babe.”

Usually, the nickname would come out harsh, but not this time. No, this time it lost its edge, leaving his mouth like a true endearment. It made your heart stutter.

“‘Kay,” you were already feeling it, so you didn’t hesitate to practically climb into his lap to get it.

He was frozen at the feeling of you against him, on him. It made him blush and he hoped that the glow of the fire hid it well. You grabbed the joint easily, humming in success and moving back to your spot next to him.

He avoided Robin’s gaze, knowing it would say ‘seriously?’ and raise even more questions in his head about what he actually feels for you. He wasn’t ready to dive into that just yet.

As the sky got darker and the hours shifted to the earliest of the morning, the group began to head to bed. First, it was Nancy and Robin, stumbling off giggling with their elbows linked. Then, it was Jonathan and Argyle, who left with a ‘goodnight dudes.’ When Eddie saw that it was just him, you, and Steve left, he sent you both a wink and strutted off with that mischievous grin on his face.

You didn’t really want to know what he was implying with that look.

“You tired?” Steve asked you.

“Not really,” you shook your head. “Would love to lay down in my sleeping bag, though.”

“Forgot weed makes you snuggly, babe.”

He’s right, it does, and you're resisting the urge to lean your head on his shoulder as he speaks. He stands before you can, grabbing a bucket to put out the fire and then leading you both to your tent with his flashlight.

It’s not long before you’re both in bed, facing each other and laying closer than you ever thought you would. The weed was mingling with your thoughts about the boy, the new feeling you got when he looked at you. You’re sure it was nothing. At least, you think you are.

“Hey Steve?” You speak softly.

“Yeah?” He’s laying on your side, facing you and you’re doing the same. He isn’t sure when your face got so close to his but he doesn’t mind. Not one bit. What is happening?

“Why’re you being nicer to me? Thought you hated me,” you’re being more honest than you would usually allow yourself to be, especially with him. “It’s confusing.”

His eyes roam your face, the color of your eyes and the way your hair fell over your forehead messily due to your position. He brushed it back, contemplating what he might say.

“I never hated you,” and he means it.

“Oh,” you don’t know what else to say. You’re surprised by his admission.

“Do you hate me?”

“I don’t think so,” you shake your head, correct yourself. “No. I don't.”

He realizes his hand is still pushing the hair from your forehead, and when he goes to pull it away you make some sort of sound in protest. He keeps going.

“I’m sorry that I judged you ‘cause of high school.”

Your eyes are closed, but he knows they’re probably looking sad, misty. He can tell you feel guilty, though he appreciates the apology, he doesn’t want you to be upset.

“I’m sorry, too.” He knows the dislike went both ways. He’s not so sure about that anymore, though.

You shuffle closer to him, letting your cuddling tendencies while high get the best of you and pushing yourself into Steve’s warmth. You tuck your head under his chin, the sleeping bag preventing you from using your arms. Instead, he frees one of his and wraps it around you.

You fall asleep with the smell of Steve surrounding you, bergamot, something woodsy, something sweet buried under the scent of weed that still lingers.

Your clouded mind doesn’t let you think about what this might mean, what might’ve changed in the short time you’ve spent at the campsite. Same goes for him. Steve’s content holding you for now, and worrying about it in the morning.

When you wake up, Steve still has an arm wrapped around you, though you’ve spun to face away from him. He’s close, his chest against your back and legs bracketing yours. You can tell even through the layers of your sleeping bags.

It makes your head spin.

You think maybe everything you’ve ever thought about Steve has been wrong—except for the fact that he’s pretty, you’re right about that—and it’s making you panic.

You lift his arm off of you as carefully as possible, just enough to slip out from under it. You wince when he makes some sort of sound of protest, his arm seemingly searching for you. You don’t want him to wake up now, you’re not ready to face him, really. You need to think.

Lucky for you, he finds your pillow and decides to cuddle that instead, remaining asleep.

You’re up before anyone else, catching the last bit of the sunrise and seeing the yellows and oranges give way to the blue skies of the day. You sit on the ground with your back against one of the logs used as a bench during campfires, your legs bent and your chin propped up on your knees.

The quiet is nice, nothing but the birds chirping and the wind rustling tree leaves. It allows you to try to figure out whatever the hell this camping trip has done to your relationship with Steve, if you could even call it that.

It seems that at some point during the short time you’ve been here, the hatred you thought you had for him had dimmed, changed into something more friendly, maybe. Though, you wouldn’t describe some of the thoughts you had about him recently as friendly.

You huff and drop your face so your forehead rests on your knees now. You haven’t figured one thing out. If anything, forcing yourself to think, to unscramble your thoughts, has only made things worse. Blurred the lines more.

It could’ve been minutes, or it could’ve been hours before someone else got up. That someone was Nancy, who simply walked over to where you sat, and took a seat next to you. She knew when not to ask, when to just be there. You’d known each other long enough for things to be easy like that.

When you turn your face to look at her she gives you that classic Nancy smile, close-mouthed and soft, and it tells you that she’s there, that it’ll be okay in the end.

In that moment, you believe it, and you rest your head on her shoulder.

Other than your inner crisis of the morning, the day is uneventful like the one before. You all head down to the nearby lake and laze around. You keep reading the book you brought, munch on the snacks Nancy packed up in a picnic basket, and even have a nap on the blanket that was lying beneath you.

You had an early morning, after all.

Steve couldn’t keep himself from sneaking glances at you all day. Though, maybe it doesn’t count as sneaking if both Robin and Eddie call him out on it. He doesn’t say anything to them, he doesn’t think he could even if he wanted to. He himself has no idea what’s going on.

All he knows is that you look really pretty when you sleep. Well, you look pretty all of the time, but there’s something about the complete serenity on your face, the way your cheek is squished against your hand and your hair falls around you messily.

When the breeze picks up, he uses the blanket he was sitting on to cover you. He doesn’t let himself overthink it in the moment, even if he knows he will later. He just wants you to be warm and comfortable.

Robin pulls him aside under the guise of wanting to grab something from her tent and fully believing in the buddy system. In reality, she wanted to try and knock some sense into him, because she knows she’ll be able to crack him sooner than she could you.

“Steve, you like her,” she tells him. Not a question, a statement.

“I don’t, Robin.”

“Oh come on! You won’t stop looking at her, you tucked her in for fucks sake!”

He only stares at her, unsure of what to say.

“How can you be so clueless about your own feelings? We can all see it. Me and Nance talked about it earlier, and she said she saw your lady really early this morning looking all troubled.”

“She’s not my lady. Jesus, Robin.”

“Of course that’s the part you choose to focus on, dingus. Means she’s confused, and so are you. I knew you guys didn’t hate each other.”

“Just ‘cause we don’t hate each other anymore, or whatever, doesn’t mean we like each other, either.”

“Can't wait to tell you I told you so later.”

With that, she heads back to the group, leaving Steve even more frazzled than he already was.

That morning, when he woke up holding your pillow, his face buried in it, he couldn’t ignore the disappointment he felt because of your absence. Hated that he inhaled deeply to catch a whisper of your perfume or shampoo on the pillow.

He also can't stop thinking about the conversation from the night before.

‘Do you hate me?’

‘I don’t think so…No. I don’t.’

He wonders if you really meant it. He hopes you did.

The two of you don’t talk again until you’re going to bed, back in the solitude of your shared tent. You’d been orbiting each other all day, round and round and never colliding.

You’re forced to talk to him when you climb into the tent, Steve already in his sleeping bag with a book propped open and a pair of glasses perched on his nose.

“Didn’t know you could read, Harrington.”

He peeks at you through his glasses, your face clearer than usual thanks to them. “I’m full of surprises, babe.”

You’re realizing that now, you think.

“And the glasses?” You gesture towards him with your hand, moving to sit down atop your sleeping bag when he replies.

“Got beat up one too many times, I think. Ended up with shit vision.”

“At least you look good in them,” you blurt out.

It’s true, he does look good in them. You think he’d look good in anything, really. The frames suit him, make him look softer in a way. Even though you mean it, you didn’t want to say it out loud. You hope he’ll ignore it for your sake and move on. He doesn’t.

“You think so?”

He sounds like he truly means that question, like what you think actually matters to him. It does matter to him. In fact, you’re the only person besides Robin who’s seen him with them on and he can’t help but feel nervous, insecure.

“Um,” you look at him. “Yeah, I do.”

You’re pretty, you almost add, but you stop yourself. You haven’t figured things out enough to say things like that to him right now. You don’t know if he’ll tease you for it, hold it against you, or if maybe he’ll keep looking at you the way he is right now. You hope it’s the last option.

His gaze is tender, but it leaves your skin burning. His eyes trail your entire body, down and back up until they’re locked on yours once again. He’s taking his time to see you in a way he hasn’t let himself until now. The color of your skin and the dips and curves of your body, the way your hair frames your face and the shine of lip balm on your lips. He closes his book, tosses it aside.

“They’d look good on you too,” it takes you a second to realize he’s talking about the glasses. He shuffles closer to you, takes them off and pushes them onto your face. “There.”

His fingertips brush the skin of your face when he pulls his hands away.

“Jesus, Steve, you got punched badly enough for this prescription?” You squint at him through his lenses.

He huffs out a laugh, small, but there. You want to make him laugh again and again. The thought scares you because you know that something is changing in how you look at Steve, that maybe it changed a long time ago and you were too busy mouthing off at him to notice.

“I think it has more to do with the number of punches, not their force,” he says. Then, “they look nice. The glasses, I mean.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

You take them off and give them back to him, he tosses them aside to where his book lays forgotten. He’s not so interested in reading anymore, anyways. Not when you’re here, not when you seem to be getting along well enough that he keeps looking at your lips.

Everything’s fucked. It’s all so different, like a tectonic plate has shifted in his mind and stirred it up, changed how he sees you. If only he knew the exact same thing was happening to you, too.

It’s quiet for a bit, sort of awkward. There’s something you know you have to talk about, but neither of you want to bring it up.

Steve seems to be the braver one in the moment as he starts, “listen. About last night-”

“It’s okay, Steve,” you cut him off. “If you didn’t mean what you said. I understand.”

“No! No, it’s not-” he cuts himself off this time, trying to find the right words to say. “I did mean it.”

“What parts, exactly?” You hate that you have to ask for clarity, but you need to know in order to feel less afraid about what you feel. If he was in the same boat, you’re sure it’d make you feel safer.

“All of it. The part where I don’t hate you, that I never did. The part where I’m sorry for how things have been between us until now.”

“I meant it, too,” you say after a beat, voice almost shy. “All of it.”

“Can we be friends?” He asks, though the way his sight keeps flicking from your mouth to your eyes to the way your pyjama top falls off your shoulder doesn’t feel friendly. No, it feels heavier than that.

You nod, “I would like that, Steve.”

You can smell his shampoo, his scent, and feel his body heat that’s become more familiar in the last couple of days than ever. When did you move so close?

He’s right next to you, your legs touching and facing each other and you can feel his breath tickling your lips, taunting you.

“Do you think maybe we can start being friends tomorrow?” He says.

“Why’s that?” You ask, though by the way his hand comes up to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing your lower lip, you think you know exactly why.

“‘Cause I want to do some very unfriendly things to you right now if you’ll let me.”

“Okay.”

It’s the only confirmation he needs before he leans in, pushing his lips onto yours sweetly at first, just a peck. Like he’s testing the waters and making sure you won’t pull away. When he pulls back and you try to chase his mouth, that’s when he really kisses you.

This time, it’s messier, quicker. It’s heated in a way that has your stomach swirling and your thighs squeezing together. He licks into your mouth, fully tasting you and opening you up for him. It’s dirty, the way he slows it down so it’s languid.

It has you climbing into his lap to straddle him and pushing your hands into his hair to keep him close. It has you grinding yourself against him and letting a small whimper escape when he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth before diving back in.

You’re absolutely done for when he pulls back long enough to peel off his shirt and then kisses you dumb all over again, his hands on your waist urging you to move over him. He eventually takes your shirt off, too, but he doesn’t lean back in.

No, he’s completely taken by the sight of you and your lack of bra. Transfixed.

“Can I touch you, baby?”

That one’s new.

“Please.”

The word sparks him into action, and he can’t believe it just came out of your mouth and was directed at him. He thinks he must be dreaming, it’s all too good to be true. The feel of you against him, on him, all over him. The way your tits feel in his hands when he cups them and brushes his thumbs over your nipples, the hitch in your breath when he does.

“Fuck. You’re so pretty. So, so pretty.” He can’t stop himself from saying it.

”You’re pretty, too.” Your hands interlock at the back of his neck and pull him in to kiss you again.

It’s not much longer before he flips you over, grabbing a pillow to place beneath your head and letting his hips weigh yours down, pinning you beneath him with one hand propping him up and the other still busy at your chest.

Your hands trail down his back, feeling the muscles ripple and shift under his heated skin. He’s pushing himself into you, hard, giving you both a taste of the friction you’ve been needing. It’s not enough, though, and he knows it. He needs more, too, but he holds off to tease you, to hear you say please again.

He can feel your chest heaving beneath him, and he pulls away from your mouth to give you room to breathe. He moves his kisses to your jaw, down your neck, instead. He’s careful not to leave marks, but he’s greedy with you nonetheless, covering as much skin as he can until he finds that spot that makes you whimper.

His ear is right by your mouth when you do and he thinks he’s found his new favorite sound.

His kisses stray further south, and your hands push into his hair when he pauses at your chest, pecking across the swell of your tits before taking a nipple in his mouth. As much as he wants to, he doesn’t stay there for long. The way you’re squirming a little under him, pulling his hair tighter, tells him you need more and he decides he’s teased you enough.

“Can I?” He asks, sitting up enough to hook his fingers in the waistband of your pyjama bottoms and panties.

“Only if you take yours off, too.”

It sounds like a good deal to him, he’s straining against his boxers, and he really wants to see you. Taste you.

He pulls your bottoms off first, leaving you naked and waiting as he stands to take his pants off.

“Hurry up, Steve. It’s cold.”

He lowers himself to hover over you once again, “don’t worry, baby. I’ll warm you right up.”

Then, he’s making his way back down, a kissed path down your stomach until he’s laying between your legs. His hands run soothingly along the outsides of your thighs, hold them apart when you try to force them shut.

You feel shy under his stare, focused on where you’re wet and wanting. You seriously can't believe this is happening.

“You’re beautiful, okay? Don’t need to hide from me,” he punctuates his sentence with a sweet kiss to your inner thigh.

You don’t have time to say anything back because his mouth is on you, licking a stripe from the top up to your clit that has your eyes fluttering shut. One of your hands is back in his hair, the other searching for one of his and holding tight when you find it.

It’s not long until he has you moaning, your thighs now thrown over his shoulders. He’s groaning into you everything you buck up towards his mouth, encouraging you. He acts as if he’s enjoying it just as much as you are even though nobody’s mouth is on him. It makes it that much hotter.

You don’t think you’ll ever be able to look at him without thinking of what he’s capable of making you feel after this.

“Steve,” you whine.

He pulls back to look at your face, the pinch between your brows telling him you need more. “What is it, baby?”

“Please.”

“Gotta tell me, pretty girl. Use your words.” He knows he’s teasing you but the reaction it’s getting him is too good to stop. The way you whimper when he licks at your clit only to pull back before you can even process it.

“Your fingers, please,” you say it quietly, but he lets it slide.

He uses the hand that isn’t still holding yours and brings two fingers to your entrance, circling it and getting them wet before he pushes them in slowly.

Steve doesn't think he’s ever felt this way with another person. He's so invested in making sure you’re comfortable, so taken by how you look and how you sound. He’s so completely lost in you and this and he doesn’t want it to end.

His fingers are moving steadily, finding that spot inside you that has your toes curling. He keeps going until he feels you squeeze around his fingers, his mouth back on you, though his eyes stay on your face. He knows you’re close when your head falls back, when you moan louder than before, when your thighs tighten around him.

“Is that good, baby?” It’s a rhetorical question, but he wants to hear it from you.

“Yeah, Steve,” you breathe out. “Really close.”

“Go on. Come for me.”

You don’t know how, but his words draw your orgasm out of you. It’s intense and has you laying back down, your head digging into the pillow and your hand squeezing his tight.

He doesn’t pull away until you push his head lightly, needing a minute to regain your bearings because of him. You don’t know how he can be so good, make you come in a way you didn’t think was possible. And he still looks as pretty as ever while doing it, his mouth and fingers wet with you.

You think your eyes almost roll back into your head when he sucks his fingers clean.

Steve Harrington really is a menace, just maybe not in the way you thought.

Your legs fall from his shoulders when he moves back up to your lips, kissing you slow and steady. It’s grounding, in a way. Brings you back to him and clears whatever remaining haze was there from your orgasm.

You can feel him hard against your lower stomach as you kiss, and you reach down to grasp him in your hand, stroking him slowly. He moans into the kiss when you do. You utter his name against his lips, he pulls away and rests his forehead on yours in response.

“Yeah?” He’s breathing heavy, his voice coming out breathy and rough.

“Fuck me.”

His hips buck into your hand when he hears the words come out of your mouth.

The hand holding him guided him down to your entrance, and he takes over from there. He holds a hand by your mouth, “spit.”

You do, and he uses it to lube himself up, and pushes in with his elbows on either side of your head, blocking out anything that isn’t him. Once he’s buried all the way, your legs wrap around his waist, urging him to stay close.

The first thrust is slow, almost painfully so because you can feel every single inch as he moves. He’s big and the stretch is just enough to make your eyes water, just enough to have you moaning again.

“Holy shit, Steve.”

“I know, sweet girl. You’re doing so good.”

“Faster, please.”

He complies, his rhythm picking up and his mouth finding the spot on your neck he discovered earlier. It’s all-consuming, the way he touches you, the way he fucks you. It’s as if the rest of the world has melted away and all you can sense is him. His smell, his skin against yours, the way he moves inside you.

You tug him by the hair back to your mouth, letting him swallow your moans. He savours every single one, adjusts his hips every time one is louder than the rest.

Somehow, he can tell when you need more from him, like he’s learned your body completely even in the short time he’s had it. When he knows it this time, he sits up so he’s on his knees, takes one of your legs and sets it on his shoulder so he can move deeper, better.

“You feel so good, babe. Fuck, can’t believe you’ve been right in front of me for so long.”

It’s like he can’t control what comes out of his mouth anymore, all he knows is that you feel incredible, that you’re beautiful and he wants to break down every single wall that’s been put between the two of you. He wants to know you.

It doesn’t take much longer for your second orgasm to build up, your hands bunching up the fabric of the sleeping bag for something to hold onto. When Steve takes a hand and pushes it against your lower stomach, asking, “can you feel me, pretty. Right there,” that’s when you hit your peak again.

You’re a mess, moaning his name over and over as he fucks you through it all. When you’ve come down, Steve isn’t far behind you, his thrusts sloppier and small moans escaping him.

“Can I come on you, baby?”

“Fuck, Steve. Yeah.”

He pulls out, jerking himself off until he comes over your stomach, all but collapsing next to you when he’s done. Your heads on the same pillow and pants leaving your mouths. Steve searches the tent for his boxers from before, using them to clean the both of you up the best he can.

You’re still sticky and sweaty when he covers you both with his sleeping bag as if it’s a blanket, but you don’t mind. You want him to stay close, you think.

“You’re really pretty,” he says quietly. “I definitely do not hate you.”

You giggle, push yourself closer to him, your face at his chest. “I feel a lot of things for you, I think. Hate isn’t one of them.”

His heart swells at your words. He doesn’t think you’ve ever been so candid with him and he treasures it.

“Where have you been hiding this sweet girl, huh? ‘Cause I really like her.”

“Shut up,” you deflect.

“Just being honest. Let’s sleep?”

“Yeah, let’s sleep.”

You find that Steve’s embrace feels familiar now, letting his arms come around you and pull you close. You think that his lips on your forehead in a goodnight kiss is something you might need every night.

You also think you’ll have a slight panic about all of this tomorrow. But, for now, you let yourself fall asleep, safe and satisfied.

When you wake up, Steve’s already outside, and you can hear the chatter of your other friends, too. You figure it’s later in the morning, that Steve let you sleep in.

You can't believe what happened the night before, half convinced it was a dream until you notice that you’re still naked. You don’t regret it, you only wish it didn’t cause so much confusion in your head.

You really do want to be friends with him, though, now you’re not sure if that’ll be enough. If you might want more than that.

Once you get up and ready, and the day begins, you keep your distance from him. He seems to be doing the same. It’s not that you’re upset with him, it’s just that you’re scared of how much has changed in so little time and you need to process it, to let yourself solve the puzzle in your mind.

The only thing Steve had said to you that morning was while passing you a plate of breakfast he seemed to have saved for you. “We’ll talk later?”

You nodded and that was it.

It’s the afternoon when the group of you head towards one of the hiking trails, water bottles and granola bars packed in your bags. You all smell like sunscreen, thanks to Nancy going mom mode on you all.

The sun beats down on your shoulders as you walk, only quick moments of shade provided by the trees that you pass. You know that by the end of it you’ll all be sweaty and sticky, but it’s a nice trail, with a view of the lake peeking through the trees.

Argyle stops to look at every plant he deems ‘peculiar’ including mushrooms, he forces Jonathan to look at them, too. Eddie is humming a guitar solo the entire way, he says it’s the soundtrack to your adventure. Robin picks flowers along the way, putting one in everyone’s hair—two in Nancy’s.

As for you and Steve, you hang back a couple of steps behind the group, walking alongside each other. You don’t talk, settling for a comfortable silence. A mutual understanding that there is something to discuss, just not right now.

Every so often, your hands will brush, and you’ll glance at each other shyly before looking away again.

You’re about halfway through the trail when a tree root gets in your way. You happened to be looking away at the moment, Steve laughing at Robin’s joke caught your attention. You trip over it, your ankle rolling painfully as you fall with a small yelp.

Steve notices first, and he crouches down next to you. “Shit. Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” you try to brush it off, even with tears gathering in your eyes.

Everyone else comes to see if you’re alright, too, and you hate all of the attention. You know they mean well, but it’s embarrassing.

“Can you stand?” Robin asks.

Steve holds out his hands to help you up, and he catches you when the pressure on your ankle is too much and you almost fall again.

“Guess that’s a no,” Argyle says. Jonathan gives him a light slap for it.

“I’m fine, guys,” you urge, though you’re clinging to Steve to help you stay up. “Just give me a minute and we can keep going.”

“Absolutely not,” Steve says firmly. “We gotta take care of that ankle, babe.”

Just as you’re about to protest, Nancy cuts in, “he’s right, it’s kinda swollen.”

“There’s a first aid kit in the van,” Eddie adds.

You’re frustrated that you’ve ruined the walk for everyone, and you cover your eyes with the hand that isn’t holding onto Steve to hide the fact that you are now crying. You’re in pain and humiliated and there are too many eyes on you.

Steve can tell, so he says, “you guys keep going, I’ll go back with her.”

They agree, and Robin gives Steve a look that tells him she knows exactly how he feels even though he’s not one hundred percent certain. When he hears you sniffle, his attention doesn’t stray anymore.

“I’m sorry,” you say between your crying.

“None of that. Was getting bored anyway.”

You try your best to gather yourself, wiping at your cheeks and eyes roughly. Steve pulls your hand away and does it for you, he’s much more gentle. The two of you stay put until you’ve stopped crying, and Steve doesn’t let go of you through any of it.

“I’m gonna carry you, okay?”

“No, I can walk, Steve. I swear.”

“Shut up and get on my back,” he leans down enough so you can hop on, in position for a piggy back. Your arms hold onto his shoulders, trying not to choke him, and your legs are around his waist. He holds you by the thighs and begins the descent very carefully.

His hands on you feel all too familiar now. You know what they do in intimacy, how they move and squeeze at your skin, your thighs. Almost like he’s doing now, though the situation and intent is much different.

Again, the walk is spent in silence apart from the sounds of your breathing and Steve’s footsteps.

Once you’ve made it back, he sets you down so you can sit on one of the log benches by the fire pit, and he goes off to Eddie’s van with a promise to be back soon.

You discover that he’s good at keeping promises, as he’s back before you really noticed his absence. You think he might have ran there and back and that thought has your heart skipping a beat in your chest. He’s good at taking care of people, you think. The way he knew how to calm you down, how he offered to carry you, and how he takes your injured leg in his hands so carefully you almost melt. He tugs your shoe and sock off, apologizing when you say a small ‘ouch.’

“There should be a tensor bandage in here somewhere. I’ll wrap you up real good, I swear.”

“I trust you, Steve.”

He thinks those words hold a lot more weight and meaning than just wrapping your ankle, and he files it away in his mind to think about in the future. He can tell you don’t trust a whole lot of people, and he feels special that you do him. His lips curve into a soft smile.

He kneels on the ground in front of you, first aid kit open at his side and your foot propped on his knee. He wraps it slowly, fully focused on making sure he does it right because he doesn’t like the thought of you hurting. He hates it, actually.

He knows things have changed drastically since you’ve been here, and he knows they won’t ever be the same. He only hopes that the outcome is good.

You watch as he works, eyes focused on the way his hands move and hold you so softly. With nobody else around, you allow yourself to relax around him, to let your eyes linger.

When he finishes, he presses a small kiss to your ankle over the bandage. If kisses had healing powers, you think you’d be all better after that.

You don’t know how or why your feelings for him seem to have shifted so much, all you know is that any trace of hatred you had towards him has disappeared, wiped away to make room for something else. Something fonder that could be described using four letters and might have been around much longer than you thought.

“Thank you,” you say as he sets your leg down and moves to sit next to you.

“No problem, babe,” he pauses before continuing. “Do you want me to take you home today? I bet Eddie would let me take the van.”

“No!” It comes out more panicked than you wanted it to, but you really didn’t want to go home. You’d be happy staying at that campsite forever, because you hadn’t thought of your parents since you left until now. “I mean. No, I'd rather stay. Thanks though.”

Steve knows something’s wrong, that your relationship with your family may not be the best. He’s suspected it ever since your reaction to his comment about you always hanging around Family Video. He wants you to know he can relate.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

You shrug, “not much to say, really. Just don’t like being home.”

“You can stay with me, you know… If you ever need to. My parents aren’t really around anyways.”

You lean your head on his shoulder, giving him some silent support. “Thank you. You’re kind of a great guy, Steve.”

“Only kind of?”

He turns his head towards yours, and you do the same. You’re close enough that you could lean forward ever so slightly and you’d be kissing. You think about it, he does too.

Steve breaks the moment first, though. He wants to kiss you, he really does, but he doesn’t want it to be in this grey area the two of you are stuck in. He wants it to be real, and to know exactly what it’ll mean.

“Why don’t I find you some ice for that ankle, huh?”

He squeezes your knee and stands, not waiting for a reply.

The rest of the day passed quickly, the group coming back from their hike and showing you polaroids they took of the view for you, Steve fussing over you every time you went to walk on your own.

Before you knew it, it was time to head to bed. Steve helped you walk over to your tent despite your insistence that you could do it yourself, “I’m going there anyways,” he said.

You simply huffed and let him curl an arm around your waist to give you some support. Maybe to have an excuse to touch you, too.

Steve left while you got ready for bed, even though he’d seen it all before. He still didn’t know where you stood and wanted to be mindful of that. As he walked back to the tent after a few minutes, he geared himself up to start some sort of conversation with you. The intent melted away when he saw you, though.

You weren’t usually a crier, but as you tried to get comfortable, you bumped your ankle against something and pain shot up your leg, sharp and sudden. You were sitting up when he came in, knees bent and your face buried in them, and your hands clutching above the bandage.

The tears fell before you could stop them, the frustration you felt and the flare up in your injury bubbling and spilling over. You heard the zipper of the tent’s entrance slip open, and you knew it was Steve, but you didn’t really want to look at him.

You hated crying, it made you feel embarrassed, and the softness in his brown eyes would only make you cry harder because you never had anyone care that much about you being upset.

“Hey,” he starts, sitting next to you. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Hurts,” is all you manage to get out.

One of his hands rubs up and down your back soothingly, the warmth seeping through your shirt. His other hand reaches to where yours are holding your leg, prying them away gently and grasping it himself.

You lift your head to look at him, shy under all of his attention.

“You tired?” He asks.

You nod, and he urges you to lay down, so you do. He wipes away your tears for you yet again once you’re settled on your pillow. He reaches for his pillow, lifting your leg and placing it under your ankle to keep it elevated.

“Steve, you need that. What’re you gonna sleep on?”

“Got some sweats I’ll bunch up, don’t you worry. You need that more than I do, ‘kay?”

“You’re really sweet.” You say quietly, already much more comfortable than before. You don’t know if it’s the pillow he’s placed under your foot or if it’s simply Steve’s presence that makes you feel that way.

He does as he said, digging for his sweats and balling them up to use as a pillow but you stop him by saying, “you can just share mine.”

You scooch over until half of your pillow is empty, leaving room for Steve to lay down next to you. He’s careful as he does, watching where he puts his legs so that he won’t bump your ankle. He lays on his side facing you, wondering whether it would be okay to reach out and hold you.

He does it anyways, figuring you’d tell him to get off if you didn’t want him to. His arm slips out of his sleeping bag to hold your waist. You turn yourself towards him as much as you can while keeping your foot in a good position.

You find yourself getting sleepy a lot faster with him near, and it’s odd. Less than a week ago you were convinced you hated the boy and now… Well now you felt something far from hatred.

You never thought you’d even become friends with Steve, let alone whatever the relationship between you is now.

“Thanks for taking care of me today, Steve.”

His hand pulls you a little closer, “no worries. You’re a great patient.”

You breathe out, a hint of a laugh that would be there if your eyes weren’t so heavy.

“Do you think this is weird?” You ask. You’re not specific but he knows you’re referring to you and him and the lack of arguments.

“It’s different, but I’m happy. That we can actually talk now, that you don’t hate me.”

“Me too. Cuddling is also nice.”

Neither of you bring up the kissing, or the sex, but the thought of it lingers. It hovers over the two of you constantly, waiting to be brought up.

You fall asleep soon after, barely noticing the pain in your ankle anymore.

The next day was your last full one of the camping trip. So, naturally, everyone was together for it all. There wasn’t room for a conversation with Steve about the serious stuff which you didn’t mind all that much.

You were nervous to know what he thought. Did he even want you, or was it just a heat of the moment thing? Does he only want to be friends, or did he feel more than that?

You’d rather float in the unknown rather than hear that he didn’t like you the same way. Because this was new to you. You never had a boyfriend, never wanted one, either. And then Steve Harrington just had to make you feel so much for him. Things you didn’t know how to deal with for so long that your instinct was to act like you hated him. To convince yourself you did.

You weren’t ready to go home, to go back to reality. You were scared that you and Steve would revert back to how it was before, the dirty looks and the comments and the mask of dislike. You didn’t even want to think about going back to your house or your lousy job.

Though you didn’t have time for any serious chats, Steve would find ways to check in on you, to ask if your ankle was bothering you at all. He even rewrapped it for you when he noticed you struggling with it.

As day turned to night, the sun swallowed by the horizon, you all spent time packing up the site so it would be quicker to leave in the morning. Everything apart from the tents and what you needed to sleep was cleaned up and packed into Jonathan’s car.

Once more, the most talking you and Steve did was before bed, in the bubble of your tent.

He shared your pillow like the night before, held you the same way, too. He couldn’t stay away from you no matter how hard he tried. Steve found himself making excuses to come up to you during the day, asking if you needed help even though he knew you didn’t, checking on your ankle even if he had already done it ten minutes ago.

“What do you think is gonna happen when we go home?” You ask.

“You mean with us?” He checks, and when you nod, he takes a moment to think before continuing. “I want to be your friend, I meant that. I also think that there might be more? Maybe. I just don’t want to rush things with you,” he says the last part quieter than the rest.

“I do, too. Think there could be more. I’m scared, though.”

He reaches a hand to hold your cheek, his thumb brushing back and forth.

“I know that a lot has happened in the last couple of days, but I think we could be something. Don’t you want to give it a try?” He asks you, his face close enough to yours that you can feel his breath on your lips.

“Yeah, I do.”

You know that you’ve barely scratched the surface of what you really feel. You’re ninety nine percent sure that you love him and you know he deserves to know that. You’re just not ready to say it, and you want to give yourself time to see what things will be like back in Hawkins before you do.

He nudges his nose against yours in response, waiting to see if you’ll pull away before leaning in to kiss you. It’s slow, languid and you know it won’t lead to anything more but you cherish it all the same.

You try to pour what you can't say into it.

Steve couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He’d been wanting to kiss you ever since the last time and it was as if the rubber band of his reserve snapped when you said you wanted to try with him. Deep down, he’s a romantic and he wants to show you that side of him.

He figures kissing you the way a lover would is a good start.

The next morning was a whirlwind of packing what was left, making sure nothing was forgotten, and taking the tents down. It was a lot of yells back and forth and stuffing cars as full as you could.

The energy was down, everyone slightly bummed to be heading back to reality. You were especially bummed about going home. You never realize how much you hate it until you’re gone. You also worried about what would happen with Steve, how things would play out.

On the drive home, everyone sat in the same spots. Though, this time, Nancy and Robin stayed a lot closer, hands intertwined and smiles a bit brighter. It seems you and Steve aren’t the only ones who felt a shift while you were away. Maybe there really was something in the air, something that wasn’t as heavy as things felt in Hawkins.

You ended up falling asleep again during the drive, the crack of the music through the van’s speakers making your eyes heavy. You’re lucky nobody let Eddie play his music or else you surely wouldn’t get a nap in.

You’re the first one to get dropped off and Steve can’t help but worry. From the very small amount of information he’s gathered about you and your family, he knows you don’t like being around them. He wishes he could shield you from it all, how odd is that?

He’s pretty damn sure he loves you, actually.

That’s why when Eddie pulls into your driveway he offers to wake you up and help you grab your things. It’s why he’s gentle when he does so, getting out of the car and opening your door.

“Hey, babe,” he shakes your shoulders gently. “Wake up.”

You do; you’re a light sleeper. You rub your eyes tiredly and when you blink them open the first thing you see is Steve. It’s a nice sight to wake up to.

“Mmm, hi.” You say, stretching your arms.

“Hey, we’re at your place,” he tells you.

“Okay.”

You climb out of the car, thanking Eddie for driving and saying bye to Robin and Nancy. Steve grabs your bags for you and walks you to the porch. He goes to help you inside but you stop him.

“It’s alright, Steve. I’ve got it,” you take your bags from him. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he’s quiet for a moment, glancing at your door before adding, “you’ll be okay? I meant it when I said you could stay with me, you know?”

“I’ll be fine. Promise.”

You smile at him shyly, not quite sure whether you should hug him or just go inside. You wait to see what he does, but he has his hands in his pockets, rocking on his feet.

“Okay, I’ll head inside. Bye, Steve.”

“Bye, babe,” his hand brushes your arm as you go inside.

Back in the van, everyone looks at Steve like he’s an idiot. And, well, maybe he is only this time he doesn’t understand why. He looks out the window for the rest of the drive.

He knows your parting was awkward, but he didn’t want to scare you off by kissing you or doing something in front of the others when you had only become friendly a few days ago. He wasn’t used to having things move so fast, or to having them feel so strong, so vivid.

When he gets home, the house is empty. He can’t help but feel like it’d be much brighter with you in it.

You’d been back for a week and nothing major really happened between you and Steve. You weren’t sure if the conversation was forgotten, if it didn’t actually mean anything. All you knew was that you definitely loved him and it was scary.

You didn’t let yourself feel things like it so often, and it was hard for you to admit it, but you were in love with Steve. It’s why it made it almost harder to be around him than it was when you thought you hated him. You didn’t know how to act, what to say.

When you weren’t working, you still visited Family Video, though now when you and Steve would tease each other it would end in smiles and laughs, not someone storming off.

Things were sort of awkward, too. Neither of you knew if you should touch, or kiss. Neither of you wanted to be the one to ask, either. You were constantly tip-toeing around each other, never fully diving in even though you wanted to.

He called you somethings, too. Late at night when your parents would be asleep. You’d always pick up right away, ‘cause you waited for his calls, sitting in your bed with a hand next to the phone just in case. He’d always ask you how you were doing, remind you that you were welcome at his place. He once said he missed sharing a tent with you, that he wanted to see if sharing a bed would be the same.

It’s the boldest statement either of you had made since your return.

Despite the actions not being there, the feelings never left. Steve would stare at you when you visited him and Robin at work, distracted from tasks and practically hypnotized. Where he used to watch you with red hot anger, it’s turned into a rose coloured haze. A pair of heart sunglasses.

It’s not until you finally take up his offer that you’re alone with him.

Your parents were being their usual selves, only somehow it was worse, more amplified. You couldn’t stay in that house anymore, so you packed a backpack, snuck out your window, and walked all the way to Steve’s house. It wasn’t too bad of a walk. It gave you time to clear your head.

Steve was actually about to call you when he heard a knock on his door. He wasn’t expecting anyone, and he couldn’t stop himself from hoping it was you. Then, he opened the door and there you were, looking pretty as ever with a backpack on your shoulders and an apology in your eyes.

Before you could even say anything, he ushered you inside.

“Hi, babe,” he grabbed your backpack. “You okay?”

There was a softness in those brown eyes that warmed you from the inside out, that made you feel like everything would be okay as long as he was around. God, love makes you so gooey inside it was gross.

“Yeah, well, not really. Can I stay here?”

“‘Course you can. Anytime.” He holds a hand out for you to take, and when you do, he squeezes your fingers.

He holds it all the way up the stairs to his room, setting your bag down at the foot of his bed and sitting on the edge of his mattress. He pats the space next to him for you to join.

“Thanks, Stevie.”

Stevie. He’s only ever had people call him that teasingly. Mostly in high school and he didn’t like it then. He much prefers it coming out of your mouth.

“Don’t need to thank me,” he says, reaching to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m happy to have you here. I, um, I’ve missed you.”

He’s had a hard time opening up to people romantically since what happened between him and Nancy. He’s not sure how, but you make it easier. You make him feel like it’s okay to be more open, to let the walls around his heart crumble.

“I missed you, too,” you say.

“C’mere,” he moves up to sit with his back against his headboard, and pulls you into his lap, your legs on either side of his. It’s not in a dirty way, not at all. Rather, it’s for the comfort that can only be provided when having someone you love is that close to you.

He winds his arms around your waist and pulls you in for a hug, yours going around his shoulders, face turned into his neck. You indulge yourself in his smell and his arms and his warmth. You push a small peck into the skin just below his ear before pulling back enough to see his face.

“I needed that, I think,” you say.

“I really fucking like you,” he says, his head tilting back to rest against the headboard with a thump.

It’s like he couldn’t stop the words from coming out anymore. He’s been thinking it for too long without being able to say anything, and he’s done waiting, he thinks. He knows he loves you and as terrified as he is, he won’t let that feeling go ever again.

“Really?” You ask.

“Yeah, really,” he smiles at you, shutting his eyes for a second before looking at you again. “Listen, I know things have changed crazy fast, and I know that we’ve really only just started to get along but, I love you. I have for a long time, I think.”

The butterflies in your stomach are set free, a smile breaking out on your face because this is what you’ve been waiting for since the trip that changed everything.

“I love you too, Stevie,” you say, pushing the hair off his forehead as if it’s a reflex; without thought. “I think I just convinced myself I hated you ‘cause I was scared.”

“Gave is an interesting story, don’t you think?”

“Mhm,” you hum.

He leans in to kiss you then, tender and smooth the way that only couples do. Full of love and emotion, your bottom lip between his. It’s the fluff and sweetness of the best kind of pink cotton candy. It melts on your tongue.

Steve pulls back when your smiles break the kiss, leaning his forehead against yours.

“I think this could really last. You and me,” he tells you. He says it quietly, like it’s a secret for your ears only. A confession; he’s thought about this, the future.

“You do?”

“I mean we already had our first fight like forever ago. And our second, and our third, and our fourth, and-”

You cut him off putting your hand over his mouth, “okay! I get it,”

You can feel him smiling against your palm.

༄

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neptuneiris · 8 months

Text

brooklyn baby (04/?)

i'm feeling all my fucking feelings

pairing: rockstar!aemond × fem!reader

summary: a new night out with your cousins and friends that makes you get to know aemond better and he gets to know you too, being the beginning of everything.

word count: 8.8k

previous part • series masterlist

hello beautiful people! here again another chapter that I have loved writing, I hope you like it a lot :) don't worry, the next chapter the concerts start, drama and the smut maybe?? i won't say more haha!

i look forward to your comments and opinions anxiously, I love reading and responding to them, thanks for reading loves. enjoy!

warnings: alcohol, smoking, kissing, language.

After you finish playing spin the bottle and…. after you and Aemond shared another kiss that completely stole your breath in that bathroom and was even better than the last time you kissed, once the seven minutes are up and you both leave, most announce that it's been enough for the night.

You thank William for lending his room so you can play and everyone starts to leave. Baela gestures to you with her head, indicating it's time to go home, and you follow her.

However, before you leave the room, he stops you by grabbing your arm, knowing perfectly well that he was behind you.

Curious and attentive, you turn to him, both of you remaining alone in the room. And you see how he is still affected by what happened a few moments ago in the bathroom, just like you, just wanting more, watching you with complete attention and not letting you go… yet.

"I meant what I said before, Y/N," he tells you softly, slowly closing the distance between you both again, "I just want to make sure I've been clear and if you'll let me… prove it to you. Although I'll understand if you tell me no," he tells you instantly, "What happened before doesn't mean you've already made up your mind, I understand that too."

You let out a long breath, watching him intently, as he too watches you in the same way, also soft and willing. Then you bite your lips and lower your gaze for a moment, considering his words from before.

You understand that he thought he probably wouldn't see you again, besides, you weren't really upset because he did that, but because you thought that's what he was looking for from you from the beginning, that more than anything else is what made you feel disappointed.

Other than that, you and he are single, neither of you owe anyone anything and both of you can do whatever you want.

But now that things are clear and he's explained to you that he wasn't looking for that from the beginning from you nor will you be another girl for just one night, maybe the idea of starting to hang out with him now that the band is taking a break…doesn't sound bad.

"I guess," you start to say, raising your gaze to him, "I'm willing to try to see what will come of all this too and where it will lead."

Then a soft smile appears on his lips, barely visible but being there, looking so cute despite his dark style. His whole face softens it, looking somehow relieved, while you too smile in the same way he does, infecting you and unable to help it.

"Are you sure?"

You frown slightly, still smiling.

"Am I sure? What do you mean by that?"

"Hmm," he says, averting his gaze for a moment, actually sounding like a small chuckle, to focus back on you, "I just want to make sure that you really want to do this because you want to, not because you feel pressured by me or anything."

"What? No," you say in an instant, absurd, "No, I've never felt pressured by you or anything like that, really," you assure him, "No, I-I… I really want to do it."

He doesn't say anything else, just nods slowly in your direction, watching your whole face intently, his gaze falling briefly to your lips, resisting the urge at this instant to grab you by the cheeks and kiss you hard, needy, not letting you go, like a few moments ago in the bathroom.

And this immediately makes you feel nervous, him watching your face in such detail, as if he wants to etch every texture in his mind, even with his eye glinting slightly in desire, making you feel so… wanted.

And God, the thoughts you've had of this man alone in your room since you met him in Brooklyn, they don't compare.

he says almost in a whisper, only to watch as he takes his phone from his jacket pocket, unlocks it and hands it to you, "Can I have your number?"

You avoid smiling big, taking it.

"Sure."

Adding you in his contacts takes you no time, though you know Baela must be waiting for you, but you don't care, not when you're here with him and this feels right.

he asks you softly, as you hand him back his phone and he puts it back in his pocket.

"Oh no, Baela will drive," you tell him instantly, slightly apologetic, "But thanks for offering."

"Well… another time it will be," he says as his grin appears now, looking so sexy.

"Yes," you observe her beautiful sapphire eye, as well as her whole face, "Another time."

After that, you have no choice but to finally leave the room, where downstairs you meet your cousins and the boys, so you all as a group leave the house, saying goodbye to William, Cregan, Alysanne and Jason.

You say goodbye to Aegon, Luke, Jace, Daeron and finally Aemond, so soon enough you find yourself in the car with Baela and Rhaena, driving through the city.

Baela parks outside Rhaena's residence, who says thank you and wishes you goodnight and then heads to her building, while Baela and you make sure Rhaena gets through the doors and then finally head home.

"Don't think you'll get rid of me," Baela says to you in amusement, turning the music down a bit.

"And now why?" you look at her tiredly.

"Why?" she repeats incredulously, "What happened to the whole I don't want to be another girl in the crowd and I'd better take my distance?" she repeats teasingly, "Huh? Remember that?"

"Ugh, leave me alone," you look away from her, actually resisting a small smile escaping you.

"Oh no, you'll tell me everything," she assures you, "So… what happened with the sexy guitarist?"

And you really have no choice but to tell her all about it.

After that, your Sunday passes fast, watching movies with Baela in her apartment and enjoying your last quiet, stress-free day, knowing that tomorrow your head, back and neck pains will start.

And just as you expected, the week starts and you face new days of stress.

You do your class work and study at the same time, being a complete mess but unfortunately… being effective. Next week you are facing exams and now you feel like you are on a roller coaster.

Your whole desk in your room is completely disorganized, full of papers, folders, notebooks and your laptop in the middle of it all, while you do projects, research and so on, writing down in your calendar the days that will be the exams of each class.

You are good in your classes, if not the best, always willing, competitive, the one who answers questions and also the one who asks them, all the time with your coffee in hand and paying attention to your professors.

Your grades are excellent and you never leave anything to the last, always pushing yourself even though sometimes you don't sleep, feel stressed or anxious.

However, you know that breaks are important and of course you give yourself them in order to be able to continue and function properly, doing so on weekends. But whenever exams are approaching, like now, the need to continue studying is great.

When the weekend arrives, you finish your last class of the day and head home finally, only to continue in your room studying some subjects, but at that moment the distraction appears.

You hear the sound of a new message from your phone and when you look at the screen, you forget for a moment everything you are doing.

Unknown Number: hi, this is aemond

Unknown Number: my cousins and aegon will go tomorrow to the shades of green pub

Unknown Number: jace said your cousins will come, what do you say?

This immediately catches your attention, watching the messages silently and completely still, without saying or doing anything.

Honestly, since you gave him your number, as soon as Monday started, Aemond was no longer in your thoughts. Or well… yes he was but to a minor extent, since you were busy with college, more than usual and also because of the exams.

You never expected a message from him and that relieves you a lot now that you realize it, as you would have been more anxious than usual, when it's clear that he and you have things to do.

And now that he finally has, inviting you to the pub, a wave of excitement washes over you but… you don't know.

Part of you tells you that you have to study and study hard, but another part of you says: you know what? Stop being so hard on yourself and go out and have fun, it's the weekend, clear your head, go see the sexy guitarist.

But you still don't know.

You let out a long breath and decide to text Baela, asking her if she's going out tomorrow with Jace, just to confirm what Aemond has told you and she replies almost immediately that she is.

Fuck it.

You wait a few minutes, resuming your studies briefly, distracting yourself and after you see the time, a considerable amount of time has passed and you answer Aemond, since you were not going to answer him so soon and you tell him that yes, you will see him tomorrow, but not before adding him to your contacts.

You don't know what's wrong with the color black lately, but that's the color you've been wearing every time you leave your house in your clothes.

Or is it because since you met a certain sexy guitarist who always wears that color in his clothes, you have started to wear that color too?

Your funny mind tells you, when you wanted to convince yourself otherwise, telling you that it has nothing to do with it. However, it's true, since you met Aemond, you've been wearing black a lot.

But you don't care, you know you look amazing and very sexy, like now when you choose a black denim skirt that fits perfectly to your waist making your hips stand out, together with a beautiful top also black long sleeve with its edges in the form of waves that exposes your abdomen.

This time you choose white tennis shoes, wanting to be comfortable on your feet, then you leave your hair completely loose and do your usual makeup, this time choosing a brown matte nude lipstick.

Baela sends you a message telling you she is ready and you reply that you are too, so soon you are both out of the building and then you are in the car. You pick Rhaena up at her residence and finally drive to the pub.

Strangely you don't feel any kind of nerves during the whole drive nor now that the three of you are entering the pub, quickly identifying the guys in a corner at a huge table.

And instantly you see him.

The three of you make your way over to them, you greeting Jace and Luke first, instantly feeling his piercing, burning gaze on you, which already makes you feel the nerves, but you don't let them get the better of you.

So you turn to him, with a shy little smile, as you see how he's already smoking, watching you, looking so sexy and so handsome in his black clothes and platinum hair just as majestic as ever. And the moment you approach him, he stands up and you both greet each other with a kiss on the cheek.

He then allows you the way to sit down, as the couch is a curved one, so if one is sitting in the middle and wants to get up to go to the bathroom or something, everyone has to get up on one side so he can get out.

You finally greet Aegon, who is sitting in the center, for Aemond to come back and sit next to you, you now being seated between him and Aegon.

"Since all the men are with their respective girls," Aegon says, catching everyone's attention, "I invited mine too, so she'll be here any minute. She's not my girlfriend but we're just hanging out."

Your cousins along with Jace and Luke ask him questions, but you don't listen as his comment about "all the men are with their respective girls" takes you a bit by surprise.

You watch Aemond out of the corner of your eye next to you, but he looks totally unconcerned, smoking the rest of his cigarette, his right profile being a sight to really admire.

Your left thigh very lightly touches his right thigh, suddenly feeling the need to move closer towards him, though his right arm is casually resting behind you on your part of the couch back, not touching your shoulders but the whole posture of him being really sexy and making you feel like you're close to him.

And god his cologne… it drives you absolutely crazy, ever since you greeted him.

"Where is Daeron?" you ask in general, getting curious.

"Yes, why isn't he here?" asks Rhaena confused as well.

"He doesn't like pubs, he prefers parties," replies Aegon.

"But how old is he?" asks Baela now, "Like sixteen?"

All the men laugh, except Aemond, but he is still attentive to the conversation.

"Actually he's eighteen, just like me," Luke tells her.

"You're eighteen!?" asks Baela, surprised.

"Yes," he replies in confusion, "You can't tell or what?"

Everyone at the table becomes incredibly serious, no one saying anything at all.

"You don't look bro," Jace tells him, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder, with a face of understanding.

"Whatever," Luke says grumpily, "Daeron and I are graduating in October, owing a lot of credits but we will."

"Oh really? And what do you plan to study in college?" still asks Baela, now interested.

"Humm…" he suddenly gets nervous, "We don't know yet, you know, because of the band."

You frown slightly, interested at that, as does Baela, even Rhaena, but before Baela can ask again, Aegon suddenly speaks up.

"Oh, there's my girl," he says as he looks at the entrance to the pub and then turns to you and Aemond, "I don't want to bother but I have to go out and if it bothers you, too bad but I don't care."

Obviously you and he have no choice left so you both get up and clear a path for him, instantly Aegon turns to his girl and you take your seat again, with Aemond immediately following.

Aegon introduces you all to his friend or… his girl, who says hello looking a bit shy, and then they take a seat where you and Aemond were sitting before. Then Aegon himself is the one who puts the order and everyone starts ordering drinks.

And that's when the night begins.

Ice buckets with bottles of beer, mojitos, caipirinha, even margaritas and negroni, but more beer bottles is what is placed on top of the huge table in front of everyone.

You're already on your third beer, not wanting to drink any more, while Aegon, Jace and Luke are making everyone laugh, having a good time, while Aemond next to you… is completely calm and relaxed, still laughing softly with a few comments from Aegon.

He hasn't had much to drink, you notice, you guess because he has to drive, while you and he continue without talking much, only a while ago he asked you what you wanted to drink, but it's not strange or weird, in fact the mood with everyone and with him is very comfortable, calm and pleases you.

Until you are the one who decides to start a topic of conversation with him, turning your whole body sideways towards him, touching your knee with his.

"So what do you say?" you smile softly at him, with your beer bottle in hand, "Have you already started rehearsals?"

He watches you the instant he hears your voice and also positions his whole body sideways towards you, getting comfortable.

"Yes, since Tuesday."

"And how did it go?" you take a sip of your beer.

He makes a gesture on his face.

"So far so good. It's only a matter of time before Aegon wants to start improvising and trying new things, being a pain in the ass."

You let out a laugh.

"Is it that bad?"

"You have no idea."

He shakes his head softly and you continue to watch him amused, only to have him look you straight in the eye, just that way, the usual way that makes you feel things you can't really explain, watching your face in detail.

And of course it makes you nervous, but you try to dissimulate as you take another sip of your beer.

"And you?" he asks softly, watching you attentively, "How is the college?"

"It's also a pain in the ass," you instantly say as he does, making him laugh softly, "No but I'm serious," you insist, "This semester has been a nightmare, I haven't had a single week where I don't go through stress and this one has been insufferable. Next week is exams, I've been studying longer hours than usual and it's…" you let out a sigh, "Horrible."

You observe an unimportant point, thinking for a second about it, exams and college, to again focus on Aemond, who watches you with a small grin, attentive.

And you get embarrassed.

"Sorry," you say to him instantly, "Surely you don't want to hear my uni complaints, it's just me and my boring….

"Of course I want to hear it," he says, interrupting you, watching you with his soft gaze, "You look so cute."

Oh no.

Here we go again.

You lower your gaze, smiling apologetically and nervously, blushing slightly, having no idea what to say or what to do, him actually making you very nervous.

"But don't worry," he says, turning your attention back to him, " I don't really know anything about your degree or how you study, but I'm sure you'll do fine."

You smile softly in his direction, unable to help it, that strangely relieving, but in a nice way, realizing you needed to hear that, since you don't normally share your worries with anyone.

"Thank you," you tell him honestly, "And you'll do well in your rehearsals too," you add, "I wish I could play guitar like you, by the way how do you do it?"

You look at him completely interested and he smiles softly again.

"I've been playing since I was eleven."

"Really?" you look at him surprised and he nods, "And it was very hard?"

"At first," he nods to you, " Actually it depends for each person, but it was my uncle who taught me and he was very patient with me. He also played in a band at the time and he taught me everything I know."

You nod, listening to him and watching him intently.

"So it's not hard?"

He shrugs his shoulders.

"You'd have to find out. I can teach you if you want."

He says to you suddenly, watching you intently and with some intensity, also willingly, definitely surprising you, not expecting that, but you widen your smile a little more and lean a little towards him, interested.

"Oh really?" you tilt your head to the side, "And you'll be patient with me?"

"I'm a very patient person," he assures you, with his grin.

"Oh yeah? Because I'm taking it seriously," you warn him, amused.

"So am I."

You both look at each other without saying anything else, as at that moment the boys catch your attention and you both turn your focus back to them, listening to more stories of Aegon, Jace and Luke.

You laugh and take another beer, while Aemond next to you lights another cigarette, making sure the smoke doesn't go towards you, while also listening to Aegon's stories and drinking little in comparison to the others.

He feels comfortable and cool with everyone here, he likes the vibe, but he wants to talk more with you, to get to know you better and that no one interrupts the conversation, that's why after you stop talking and laughing with your cousins and the boys and he sees you a bit calmer, he decides to make his move.

Meanwhile you, you feel a shiver run through your whole body as Aemond leans completely towards you to talk in your ear, turning all your attention on him.

"Want to go get a drink?" he points to the bar, watching you intently.

And you, even though you're having a good time here with everyone, are more excited to talk and get to know Aemond more since his talk earlier was kinda interesting, so you nod with a soft smile in his direction.

You both get up and ask Aegon and his girl to please let you out, instantly causing everyone to make fun of you two, all shouting where you are going and what you are going to do, laughing.

You smile nervously, lowering your gaze, following Aemond and saying nothing, while he doesn't care and continues on his way.

You both take seats on stools and almost immediately the bar tender tends to you, so you order a gin and tonic and Aemond orders a martini.

"So rehearsals will soon turn into a nightmare," you tell him, picking up the conversation from earlier.

"Yeah," he lets out a long breath, "Not like uni, of course," he tells you with a soft smile.

You smile.

"But it's still not too bad," you assure him, "Well, I think so. It also depends on the degree, but business management can be tough."

"And did you choose to study that for yourself or for your parents?" he asks you interested.

"For myself. Although my mother did want me to study medicine because she is a surgeon, but I didn't want to. The career did appeal to me but it's very heavy and tiring," you tell him, "My father told me to choose what I wanted and he and my mother supported me in the end."

"Hmm," he nods, in understanding, "Your father is also a surgeon?"

"No, he's a biological chemist," you explain, "His brother, Baela and Rhaena's father works with him."

He nods again, understanding and looking slightly thoughtful, when in fact he is processing the information, which is what he normally does when he starts to get to know a new person and you seem like a very interesting girl to him.

At that moment the bar tender returns with your drinks and you both thank him, so you give your full attention back to Aemond, taking a sip of your gin and tonic.

"And what about you? Did you go to college?" you ask him interested.

He's about to answer you but you jump in to say something else, surprised.

"Wait, I don't even know how old you are," he laughs softly, "Oh my god-how old are you?" you ask him instantly, causing Aemond to look at you amused.

"Twenty-two."

"Oh," you nod, now feeling relieved to know.

"Why? How many did you think I had?" he continues to look at you amused.

"Exactly that or about my age, twenty," you shrug, "But anyway, you never went to college?" you take up the question and he gently denies.

"As soon as I graduated from high school, I decided to work with my uncle at his company. I still had no idea what to study and wanted first to know what I would face if I chose the same as you, business management."

"Oh really?" you look at him more interested than before, listening to him carefully.

He nods.

"But I quit when Aegon started planning the whole band thing."

You continue to watch him intently, curious, as he takes a sip of his martini and doesn't say anything more to you, in fact it seems he won't say anything more to you, as he keeps his lowered gaze fixed on the floor.

And you, you don't know if you should, you suppose that's a sign that he doesn't want to talk to you about it anymore, but the alcohol from before and the gin and tonic now make you ask, feeling more capable.

"And you didn't think about studying anymore?" you ask him softly, interested to know more.

He lets out a snort along with a small smile, watching you back attentively, gently shaking his head.

"I'm sure you won't want to hear it, it's… complicated," he says then purses his lips, averting his gaze once more from you.

You frown slightly at him.

"I do want to hear it and do we have time or not?"

He watches you back, not saying anything to you again, as you continue your willing and attentive gaze on him, to which he seems to consider it for a few moments. When suddenly, you slowly begin to feel embarrassed.

What if it's too personal, and I'm still insisting on it?

You ask yourself, terrified.

"I'm sorry," you tell him instantly, "If it's something personal I understand, it's not like I'm a gossip, I was just saying that to get to know you better, but if I'm crossing the line with topics you don't want to talk about, I….

"No, no," he interrupts you immediately, "It's not that, relax," he says softly and you continue to watch him attentively, "It's just that I don't want to bore you."

And he tells you just like that, so unsure and as if he doesn't want to ruin the moment, while you soften your whole look now in understanding, then smile softly in his direction and shake your head.

"You won't."

"Are you sure?"

"Very," you assure him.

You tell him with willing, attentive, but he continues a bit hesitantly and you give him a moment until he clears his thoughts, as he seems to be thinking too fast. Then he finally convinces himself to talk to you about that matter in his life.

"My father also owns a company just like my uncle," he starts to tell you and you give him your full attention, "In fact his company and my uncle's company work together. But from the beginning I didn't want to work with my father because he wanted, in fact he still wants, me to study business management, but… the pressure is too much."

You watch him intently and curiously.

"You don't want to work with your own family except your uncle?"

"I don't want to work with my father," he clarifies softly, "I never had a very good relationship with him, neither did Aegon," he lets you know, "At first it was Aegon because he was the eldest who was considered the next head of the company and the one who would be in charge of continuing the inheritance, but he was never interested, he always wanted to make music," he purses his lips, "And then everyone noticed me but… I didn't feel nor do I feel now ready for such a responsibility."

You make an affirmative gesture, continuing to watch and listen to him intently.

You honestly didn't think his family would go into what you are putting so much effort into doing in the future. But now that you know… it makes sense to you that they are important people and have this kind of empire.

"So you don't really want to do it?" you ask him softly.

He grimaces slightly as he shakes his head.

"I don't know yet," he takes a sip of his martini, "My relationship with him has always been very complicated," he tells you, "In fact it's all very complicated to explain."

"Don't worry," you assure him softly, "If you want to talk about it that's fine, I'm sure I can handle it."

Yet he again looks at you not entirely convinced.

"Are you sure?"

You smile softly at him, nodding.

"Yes."

"Well," he clears his throat, "Before my mother, my father had his first wife with whom he had a daughter, my half-sister Rhaenyra."

He begins to explain and you raise your eyebrows slightly in surprise as it didn't cross your mind that he had a sister.

"I really don't know much but his wife died in childbirth where neither she nor the baby was saved, Rhaenyra was about fourteen. Then my father married my mother but it was all for a political arrangement… and since Aegon was born, he never paid any attention to me or my other siblings for giving all his attention and preference to Rhaenyra."

You nod slightly, understanding and processing the information, fully attentive.

"Not even to Helaena, my sister," he observes you for a second, "She's in London, studying biology, she's two years older than me and we don't really see much of her since she left for college, but she's our number one fan."

He says with a small, rather nostalgic smile and you can't help but smile a little too, Helaena sounding like a very good sister.

"My father still missed his first wife, you could tell, he never got over her. He never really loved my mother and neither did she love him but… at least he could have pretended to care about us when we were children," he says softly but with bitterness, "At least Rhaenyra tried, you know? She never looked down on us and treated us like what we are, brother and sister, also with Helaena."

You bite your lips, settling better in your seat, controlling the emotions on your face, as you don't want him to see you watching him with some pity.

Honestly you can't imagine not having your father's love and support that knowing he never had it… you see how he really needed it.

"How I lost my eye is not something I go around telling people, only my family knows and it's something from my private life that I want it to stay that way," he says softly and you nod, understanding, "But it happened when I was ten years old, it was an accident."

Again you try to keep your face neutral, not wanting to show your shock and disbelief, much less pity because you really don't know anything about it. Although… you sense that her father probably didn't care.

"Everyone was there except my father," he says and lets out a long breath, "Going to therapy was very difficult, learning and adapting was very difficult and it made me hate hospitals. That's why my uncle offered to teach me how to play the guitar, to have a new hobby that I would enjoy and not be stuck with what happened to me," he explains to you, "So how am I supposed to do my father the favor of continuing his company when he never really cared about me?"

You grimace slightly, now understanding his position and indecision.

"There was a time where I decided not to hold a grudge against him anymore, you know? For my peace of mind," he tells you thoughtfully, "I really wanted to study business management and work with him. I was willing and I told him that he could teach me everything he knows, but he told me it wasn't necessary."

You begin to feel anger wash over you, unable to help yourself, also beginning to feel anger for his father and you don't even know him.

"He said no because he began to see potential in Rhaenyra, until she told him no," he observes you, "She married young also to a very important businessman and decided to support him to run their company together. Until her husband died of an illness and she inherited the company. Then she remarried and had Jace, Luke and another younger son, Joffrey."

You frown slightly, as he watches you with a slightly amused smile, while you finish processing the information completely.

"Wait, she had Jace and Luke?" you repeat confused, "Your sister?"

"Yes."

"Your sister," you point at him, still confused, "And there's another one? Joffrey?"

"Yes," he nods to you, still amused, "Actually they are my nephews, not my cousins."

You look at him now surprised.

"Then why do you say they ….

"Criston decided," he interrupts you, understanding your confusion, "When we formed the band he said it was best to make it public that the two of them are our cousins since Luke and Daeron are the same age and Jace and I are a year apart. Besides we've always treated each other more like cousins, not uncles and nephews," he clarifies to you.

"Oh," you say, still surprised, "Wow."

He lets out a small laugh.

"I told you it's complicated."

"It's not complicated," you tell him tactfully, "It's just… a lot of context," you smile softly at him to watch him again attentively and curiously, "And what happened after your sister told him no?"

"Well," he resumes the matter, "I got very angry with him since he told me no because he didn't even give me the chance and since then I decided I could study management and work somewhere else, just to annoy him, you know?" you nod, understanding, "Then my uncle also told him no since he decided to start a company of his own to inherit it to his sons….

"The one who taught you to play guitar?" you ask him quickly, just to clarify.

"Yes," he nods to you, "Then Aegon refused to go to college, Helaena wanted nothing to do with it and that's only when he became aware of my existence and as a lifeboat so his company wouldn't sink or fall into the hands of people outside the family."

You slowly deny in his direction, not really understanding his father.

"When I graduated and started working with my uncle was when he started pressuring me to apply to college, telling me that so later I could work with him and run his company in the future, but I always said no, mostly out of pride," he tells you honestly, "Until my mother also started talking to me about it, then my grandfather and finally my uncle, but my uncle was never insistent, he would just tell me that inheriting a company of such magnitude was a great opportunity, but that he understood my position because of my relationship with him and told me that I would always have a place in his company. "

"And then Aegon came up with this band idea," you assume and he nods.

"I didn't take it seriously at first, I thought he was joking, until I saw that he had already taken over by recording a song and then shooting a music video. Until he convinced Daeron to join, then Luke, Jace and finally me."

You look at him curiously

"You didn't want to join?"

He denies.

"Not at first because I was working with my uncle. But when my father started pushing me, I saw the idea of Aegon as a distraction or an excuse rather," he explains to you, "I would try to prolong the college and the company thing until I made a decision while I lived as a musician and afforded myself a life without asking anyone for anything."

You nod slowly, surprised, as you don't know what you would have done if you were in his place, you wouldn't even have had the courage to decide for yourself and what you wanted to please others to begin with.

A weakness you are still working on, in fact.

But Aemond… you can tell he's more independent and in fact you can tell he learned to be independent from a very young age when he didn't have to be, clearly because of all this he lived through.

"And what did your father say to you when you decided to do this?"

"He went crazy," he tells you honestly, "We had a big fight as he didn't want me to stop working with my uncle to join a band, it seemed stupid and pointless to him. But obviously I didn't care," he lets out a long breath, "And to this day I haven't made up my mind."

And after that, you both sink into a comfortable silence, him not saying anything more and you neither, only hearing in the background the laughter of the guys, some more people in the pub and the rock music of the place.

His father seems like a bad man and a bad father to you, at least with him and his other siblings since he didn't pay attention to his other children either, but you can't tell him that.

However, you are relieved that within all his bad relationship with him, he had the support and love of his mother, that of his brothers, his uncle and even his half-sister, who was more understanding than his own father.

And as for what he wants to do… the decision is entirely his.

He has already told you that he doesn't know what to do yet and that's totally fine, it's okay to take all the time necessary, no pressure and no second opinions as the decision is his and his alone.

"So this is my life," he tells you, breaking the silence, with a soft look, "This whole company thing is a fucking mess, I still don't know what to do and my dad is a totally dick."

You smile, taking a sip of your gin and tonic.

"At least you said so."

"Yeah," he lets out a sigh, with a small smile, "But what about you?" now he's watching you interested and attentive, "We've already talked a lot about me."

You laugh, watching him also interested.

"And what do you want to know about me?"

"I don't know," he shrugs, "Your family is just as complicated as mine?"

"There are some differences but nothing like yours, believe me," you assure her, "Besides we're not a big family. My mom's family lives in Texas, so we spend more time with my dad's family."

"You're an only child?" he asks you curious.

"Yeah, but with Baela and Rhaena it doesn't seem like it," you smile, "I was supposed to have a younger brother, but my mom had a miscarriage when I was like sixteen or seventeen."

"Oh," you say slightly surprised, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to….

"No, no, it's okay, you didn't know," you assure him instantly, "After that, my parents were afraid to try again and decided not to have any more children."

" They both live here in New York?"

"No, in Boston," you clarify, "That's where I was born and raised, I actually liked Boston, but when I started applying to college, I wanted to try applying here just for a change and luckily I was accepted."

The talk about you with Aemond goes on for a while longer, where he knows your favorite food, your favorite color, your favorite TV shows and movies, you even tell him about how the business management program at NYU works.

He also tells you about his favorite color, what he likes, what he doesn't like and you also talk about music, although of course you don't know any more than he does, you just let him know about your love for Queen, Lana del Rey, Billy Joel and Harry Styles.

Until later they decide to go back to the table with the guys where the rounds of drinks continue.

Aegon and his girl are now closer, kissing from time to time, Jace and Baela too but their kisses are more discreet while Luke and Rhaena are quieter, relaxed and drinking.

Aemond and you resume your drinks, you deciding that this is the last one you will have as you start to feel a little dizzy, while you watch as Aemond continues to be calm and unaffected by the alcohol at all, guessing he must have a lot of endurance.

Then the alcohol starts to take its effect on you, but not in a bad way, you are still more than conscious but you feel more confident and more daring.

You are the one who dares to have more physical contact with Aemond, leaning completely sideways to him, your body pressed against his and raising one of your hands to take his hand as his arm is above your shoulders on the back of the sofa.

This catches Aemond off guard, definitely not expecting it but not disliking it at all either, quite the opposite, so he enjoys your closeness and contact.

Aegon and Jace again start telling their stories and making the whole group laugh, while you laugh and take your bottle of beer with your free hand, feeling so good to be this way with Aemond, having a very good time.

Sometimes when you let go of his hand, he still keeps his arm around your shoulders and you feel his thumb gently caress your shoulder, sending shivers all over your body. He also does this when he holds your hand and does the same movement on your thumb.

Suddenly Jace starts talking about something to Aemond along with Luke, who stops paying attention to you for a moment to pay attention to them, while you don't know what they are talking about and you don't really care, as you continue to focus on him.

You watch his face closely close to yours, as he has leaned in to better hear Jace and Luke, having it right in front of him and admiring his right profile again.

God.

You think, admiring the shape of his jaw, his nose, cheeks and lips, thinking about how incredibly handsome he is, in fact his brothers and nephews are too, though to you he is the most handsome and you don't doubt that his sister and half-sister are also very beautiful.

You think to yourself that then his mother and father must also be good looking people, as those genes, also the hair, are incredible.

Out of everything you are admiring about him, then you focus completely on his lips, unable to help yourself. He's talking but you don't know what exactly, just concentrating on the movement of them.

And you know; you want to kiss him.

Of course, if he kisses you, you wouldn't complain either. But you want to feel his lips, badly and now. You want to remember the sensation, the way they feel, the way they move and the way they make you feel things all over your body, making you forget about the world for a moment.

However, at that moment you can only watch and nothing else, as Aemond leans his back against the back of the couch again and continues to talk to his nephews, while you too drop your back between his arm and chest, never taking your eyes off him or his lips.

When then Aemond turns his gaze to you laughing softly, for which you react a second late as he notices how you were watching his lips and you watch him in the eye, smiling softly in his direction.

His smile doesn't disappear, rather he places a grin and leans more slowly towards you, now him seeing between your eyes and your lips on purpose.

"What are you thinking about?"

He asks you in a low, absolutely sexy murmur to you, watching you again with that intensity and desire as he watches your lips, pleased that you are like this with him, both of you so close.

And you shake your head softly, avoiding smiling big.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" he repeats without his grin disappearing, "It doesn't look like nothing to me."

"And what do you think I'm thinking?" you observe him amused.

"Hmm," he says thoughtfully, "I don't know. Maybe some things I'm thinking too."

You lean a little closer to him.

"And what are you thinking?" you ask him in a low murmur.

He gently shakes his head, as he places his hand gently on your cheek, stroking your skin with his thumb and watching you in detail, then tucking a strand of hair behind your ear delicately.

You keep smiling softly throughout, his gestures feeling cute and making you blush slightly, especially as he continues to watch you intently and with that slight glow in his blue eye.

You lean a little closer to him, wanting more… needing more.

"I'm thinking…" he says, caressing your cheek, "About how absolutely beautiful you are," he confesses to you in a soft, low murmur, "And about how much I want to kiss you," he adds, watching your lips.

You watch his too, both of you talking at that moment almost in whispers, as if sharing secrets you don't want anyone else to hear, both of you immersed in your own bubble and forgetting at that moment about everyone.

"And why don't you?" you murmur back.

He gently denies again, tracing your cheek with his thumb.

"Let's just say… it's not a proper kiss in public."

You let out a small laugh, watching him with your small smile and with a certain adoration or rather desire in your eyes, observing his whole face again, looking like an old Greek God.

You had certainly never met a boy like Aemond before. You had never met a boy who would play in a band, let alone have the similarity of his appearance, at all.

Nor had you ever met a guy so direct and so clear with what he wants, all the guys you've dated before even if it was casual were immature, incomprehensible and didn't know what they wanted, all the time acting like children.

And now with Aemond… even though you haven't known him long and he hasn't known you long, he already makes you feel things you haven't felt with anyone before.

"You are also very beautiful," you tell him in a low, honest whisper.

At that moment Aemond feels a warm sensation envelop him completely, starting with his chest, while you continue to admire him and only affirm him more with your words that are completely honest.

Then he finally rests his forehead with yours, while you close your eyes and seek to bring your lips closer to his, unable to help it due to the few centimeters that are now between him and you.

Aemond noticing this, starts to test you, bringing his lips closer to touch yours very softly, brushing them and you move forward, wanting to feel them completely, but he pulls back, amused, wanting to see how far you will go and if you will do anything about it.

Then you moan under your breath to finally leave a soft, chaste kiss on his lips that he reciprocates almost instantly, still smiling and you open your eyes to watch him.

"That's a proper kiss for the public?"

He laughs softly.

"Yes, I liked it very much," he nods, "But I prefer to kiss you in another way."

You nod, watching him now thoughtfully.

"Very well," you murmur, still close to his lips, "Then we can go outside."

"Outside?'

"Yes, actually…" you observe him between amused and serious, "I've noticed that you have a cigarette habit and so as not to disturb the other customers with smoke, you should leave here to go outside to smoke."

He watches you with his half smile, instantly understanding what you are implying with this excuse.

"Sure, we don't want to piss them off, do we?"

"No because we're good people and we respect society," you add and he nods, amused, stifling his laughter.

"Exactly."

"Besides the owner has strictly forbidden customers to smoke in here."

"Oh really? I didn't know that," he tells you even though that's not true and you shrug.

"Now you know."

He nods slightly again, then points to the huge pub door with his gaze.

"Do you want to come with me?"

"Yes, I can keep you company."

"Just to smoke?" he observes you attentively and amused.

"Just to smoke," you affirm him.

Clearly that doesn't happen. Aemond doesn't even light the cigarette.

The first thing you felt as you both left the pub, was Aemond's hand grabbing your waist to turn you toward him in a quick, calculated move to kiss you deep and needy.

Now he is leaning against the wall and you are almost on top of him, kissing him with the same need as he is in a slow but deep kiss, both of you are hidden in a small alley next to the pub but anyone passing by on the sidewalk could see you.

However, this doesn't bother or matter to you, as you are very busy and so is he, caring less than you do.

And how you are enjoying this. You enjoy the sensation, his full lips moving nimbly against yours without so much haste and in the perfect way to let you feel it all and enjoy it more, as you so desired.

Both of your hands are in his hair and neck, clinging to him, as he keeps one of his hands on your waist, holding you tight against him while his other hand is on your cheek, gently caressing it every second the kiss continues.

You snort into his mouth as you both pull apart for air for just a second, only to resume the kiss again, both of you taking in one of his hands a piece of each other's clothing to pull them against you, not wanting to let go.

You let out a low involuntary moan as he gently bites your lip but with enough force to make you react just the way he wants to and work his way between your lips with his tongue to enter your mouth.

You respond to him in kind, gasping in mid-kiss as it is now a more demanding and more exciting kiss, both of you exploring each other's mouths. You don't want this to end, ever.

The movements of his lips and tongue send delicious shivers and tingling sensations all over your stomach and a kind of explosion throughout your body as you cling tighter towards him and Aemond…. can't get enough.

"I can't believe I waited all this time to kiss you again."

He tells you on a sigh in between your mouths, immediately kissing you again, making you gasp.

"Don't stop," you sigh in supplication as well, attacking his lips again in an instant.

He smiles in the middle of the kiss, responding to your kisses with the same sensuality and slowness, but all in a deep and calculated way, to then take your lower lip with his teeth and gently pull it back, delighting in your panting and low moaning.

He kisses you again for a few more seconds, completely closing you in his arms, not wanting to stop feeling against him or wanting you to move away so that he can observe and have your face close to him.

When despite your desire in not wanting to stop, he does it to talk.

"You know that there is no turning back after this, right?"

He asks you in a low, hoarse whisper, while you internally complain about not feeling his lips with yours anymore and you watch him, leaning towards him to at least feel the touch of his nose rubbing against yours.

Although you see how terribly honest and serious he is being with you inside all the desire in his gaze and you don't want to do anything else, just kiss him until you have enough.

"What do you mean?"you ask him in a murmur, agitated by all the above but not wanting apart from him, at all.

"I want to keep seeing you. I can't wait a whole week until I see you again," he says to you as he brings his forehead together with yours and closes his eye, "After your exam week is over, maybe we could go out again?"

He asks you not entirely convinced by hearing a yes answer, while you smile gently and lean more towards him.

"Sure," you tell him completely willing, in a murmur.

Aemond also smiles a little, to begin to lightly brush his lips with yours again, testing you, not kissing you at all, backing away when you lean towards him to feel his lips, making you laugh with a pleading gesture.

"Stop doing that."

He continues smiling amused, to finally leave a soft and chaste kiss on your lips that you instantly reciprocate, making you smile.

"We have rehearsal every day in the afternoon except Saturdays and Sundays, do you want to come after your exams?"he gently asks you, "When I'm done we could go get dinner or something."

"Yes," you say softly, nodding, "It sounds perfect," you assure him.

taglist fic:

@melsunshine @fan-goddess @toodlesxcuddles @helaenaluvr @at-a-rax-ia @iloveallmyboys @nockerin @manonmccrory @tsujifreya @persephonerinyes @happinessinthebeing @zenka69 @diannnnsss @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @gloryekaterina @strangersunghoon @ttkttt @spinachtz @bellstwd @boofy1998

#aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x oc #aemond x reader #hotd aemond

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chronicallyonline-fandomwh0r3 · 4 months

Text

Y'know... i love the dpxdc fandom a lot. I follow a lot of creators and love to see different viewpoints on this fandom.

BUT, that does not mean I will tolerate people being asses and/or bullies. YOU don't want to see this crossover? the fucking block tags/blogs button is RIGHT THERE.

Limiting peoples fun and want to write? FUCK YOU.

Limiting peoples creativity and crack filled bullshittery of posts? FUCK YOU.

THIS IS TUMBLR, ITS NOT MENT TO BE A SERIOUS SITE. WE LOVINGLY CALL IT THE HELL SITE FOR A REASON.

Now, anyone who sees this post will be wondering why I'm being a bitch and what brought this on.

WELL, I have been gone for a few days dealing with real life shit and when I come back, i find out that this @jedipirateking person keeps "fact checking" and "I don't like this for so and so" on a lot of my mutuals posts.

Now at first I didn't want to deal with it. I made one response and BLOCKED the person.

I come back AGAIN after being gone for a few more days to find this account being a total DOUCHEBAG about my post and several others concerning power scaling systems. (i had to unblock to figure out why so many people were having arguments in my replies and such, AND BOY WAS IT A MESS.)

Now usually I would love to have an in depth conversation with you concerning power systems.

BUT, that post? THAT my dude was a CRACK POST. it was meant to be fun and all bullshit. NOTHING SERIOUS!

AND saying CANON beats FANON always? DUDE, the whole phandom is crack bullshit and FANON. There is little CANON used in the DP Phandom at any given moment!

If you want to start your bullshit hating on people, GO TO FUCKING REDDIT. THIS IS TUMBLR, WE ARE CRINGEY AND FUCKING BULLSHITING ALL THE TIME.

STOP. YOU ARE NOT WELCOME OR NEEDED.

BLOCK US. BLOCK THE TAGS. I DON'T GIVE A FUCK, JUST LEAVE WRITERS AND CREATIVE PEOPLE BE FUCKING CREATIVE. EVEN IF ITS CRACKED UP BULLSHIT.

Now, yelling over. Reply to this post, comment, i dont give a flying fuck. I'll keep you unblocked to be able to see ur bullshit. BUT i encourage everyone in the DPxDC fandom to block this person and ignore them. Its obvious they want to hate on people becuase they themselves are full of hate and anger at something else.

I hope you figure out your life and bullshit dude. Really i do. Because right now your cowardly ass is fucking up everyone elses fun.

To my mutuals

I am so frustrated with this happening and being late to the party. Please just block this douchbag.

also @bonebrokebuddy i love the reply you gave me. Thank you for the conversation starter for power scaling and challenging stuff. im just tired of this guy shitting on everyones posts lately.

@stealingyourbones @bongo-clash @spacedace @britcision

#dp x dc #dc x dp #fandom discourse #angry people being angry #shut up dude.#go to reddit #use the block button #but shut the fuck up for real

128 notes · View notes

softlyspector · 1 year

Text

Mothers

Summary: A year after his mother’s death, Marc travels back to Chicago to face his father. He doesn’t expect it to be easy but he also doesn’t expect it to be so hard. He especially doesn’t expect to find refuge from the hard moments in a little known witch’s shop a few blocks over. And definitely not in one keeping watch over the family’s piano.

This chapter: Marc is trying. Really, he is. But mothers are never an easy topic. Or, Marc attempts several difficult conversations.

Tales Untold; Part V - Series Masterlist

Pairing: eventual Marc Spector x Reader (eventual minor Steven Grant x Reader and Jake Lockley x Reader)

Word Count: 8.9k

Warnings (this chapter): angst, fluff, Marc Spector's terrible, oblivious flirting, lots of ✨touching✨, known menace Jake Lockley, mental health issues, feelings of guilt, tense relationship with a parent, mentions of past death, mentions of past child abuse

A/N: Hello! Here is the chapter a day early as promised! This part was originally 3k, oops.

I'm still unsure if anyone actually reads the author's notes, but I want to say thank you again. This chapter contains the scene that inspired the series! Memories and relationships are so complicated, especially when your perspective has to shift and you have competing views, and when other things like grief come into play it only makes things more complicated. This chapter tries to tackle that. I'm sure many of you can probably tell, I have issues with my own mother (mine is not like the reader's, or Marc's), and I just want to say thank you for letting me write something so cathartic. Moon Knight in general is really special to me but that facet in particular really hit home and made me question things about myself and my own childhood. I hope it resonates with you all as well and that I've done the topic justice.

Again, I want to give a big thank you to all of you who have been keeping up with this series. I love you so much, and thank you for all the continued love and support. It means everything to me. Comments and feedback are so appreciated! Please let me know if any additional warnings need to be added. For full series warnings, please check the series masterlist, which will be updated as parts are posted!

Tales Untold, Chicago 7:48 PM

Marc sighs loudly through his nose.

“Stop being a pussy about it.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jake.”

Jake promptly flips him off where he’s reflected in the shop’s front windows. Marc just huffs out another breath, irritated, and tunes out his muttering alter. He grips the cold steel rung of the ladder he’s standing on, both for support and to ground himself.

He misses Steven at that moment, because Steven would leave him alone about the date.

Probably.

“...said date -,” Jake continues. “Steven would agree with me. We definitely heard date.”

Or, maybe not.

Steven would probably harass him about it just as much.

“I also heard date, mate,” Steven chimes in agreement suddenly. “Definitely said date.”

Marc rolls his eyes.

So, he wouldn’t then. He would not leave Marc alone about it.

Marc grits his teeth and ignores both of them, reaching a hand out to finger one edge of the curling burnt orange wallpaper.

It’s true. You had said the word date to be sure.

It’s a date, is precisely what you’d said.

But people said that shit all the time. It was just an expression.

You hadn’t meant anything by it.

You couldn’t have.

It was just an expression.

It’s just something people say.

“Fuck off,” he snaps at both of them, when they continue muttering, trying and failing to refocus on the peeling wallpaper in front of him. “You’re distracting me.”

Jake snorts and Steven shushes him.

That little outpouring of emotion had been nearly a week ago, and Marc tries not to regret it. He tries not to let the shame that curls around his shoulders, that grows like a slow moving vine around his lungs and heart, strangle him.

But his heart beats like a caged bird whenever he thinks about it, like it would snap his ribs just to be free from his body. The nervous flutter of his pulse serves to remind him that he’s said too much to you.

That you did not deserve that kind of weight on your shoulders.

“I’ll just go on the fuckin’ date then.”

“You -,” he snarls, rounding on the glass, the ladder wobbling precariously, “- will not.”

Jake just smirks and crosses his arms, like he’s proud of himself for being able to get a reaction out of Marc.

Marc rolls his eyes again, so hard this time it hurts a little.

He’s still getting used to Jake, still trying to come to terms with having him around, especially when Jake seemed content to antagonize him most of the time.

It’s playful, really. Like the annoyance of a sibling that was intent on getting a rise out of him.

Even with Jake’s teasing, he’d much rather be here on the ladder staring at your wallpaper than upstairs.

He feels guilty, for leaving you alone with his father. But agreeing to have him over at your place for dinner at all had been more than enough of a challenge on its own.

It had been hard. To walk his father over to Tales Untold, his safe place, and meet you at the door. It had been hard to watch you smile and tilt your head, and lead them up the stairs. It had been hard to watch you turn your attention onto someone else.

They’d sat around your kitchen island, and you and Elias had done most of the talking while Marc sat silent and tense, not sure how to join a familial, familiar conversation.

You had set a beautiful spread, with candles and your good silverware and crystal, and a tablecloth laid haphazardly across the counter because it wasn’t the right size.

Although Marc hadn’t spoken for most of the meal, he had watched you, and followed the careful way you made your way through the conversation, the way your hands moved when you got excited about something.

He’d even learned things about you - like that you hadn’t finished college and were a server before you moved back to Chicago.

It hadn’t been as awkward or painful as he’d expected it to be. But he feels a large part of that is due to the fact that you were there. He was in your space, your domain, and by extension maybe his own. You’re safe there, and so is he.

He doesn’t like to think about what that means, that he’s become attached not only to you, but to your place. That he’s starting to feel at home there.

Home.

He’s starting to feel at home with you.

His father hadn’t commented on the piano, and Marc still isn’t sure how to feel about it. But when the plates were cleared away and you offered dessert, Marc hadn’t been able to sit still any longer. A strangely nervous energy had sizzled in his veins, washing away any sense of security he usually felt around you.

Family dinners weren’t exactly pleasant experiences for him, and it had been a long time since he was forced into that kind of box, especially with his father.

He shouldn’t have left you alone, but he thinks you probably understand. He’d helped you clear the dishes, before he leaned in next to you at the sink and said, “I’ll wash ‘em later for you. No, listen, please leave ‘em there. I need to go work on the wallpaper downstairs.”

He hadn’t needed to do anything. The wallpaper is your project and certainly not a pressing one.

Your mouth had still been parted, where you’d started to protest his insistence with the dishes, and it had been a struggle to maintain eye contact when all he wanted to do was stare at your mouth. “Okay,” you’d pressed your hand against his forearm, warmth jolting up his arm. You’d slid your thumb along his skin and nodded, “Okay. Go ahead.”

And, despite everything, you and his dad seem to get along fine. You found easy conversation with most people and his dad was no different.

The day before the dinner had been more stressful to you than anything else. You’d fretted over what to make for dinner, and Marc had helped you grocery shop and cook. “My dad keeps kosher,” he’d said while you pushed a shopping cart down an aisle, nervously chattering about what you could make.

You had paused, head tilting to the side. “He does?”

“He’s a rabbi.”

“Oh,” you’d continued pushing the cart before you turned to him with wide eyes. “Oh, my god. Marc, you’ve eaten at my place so many times…It wasn’t - I mean I don’t know if it was kosher -,”

He’d pressed a hand to the small of your back, urging you along, trying and failing to hide a smile. “I don’t keep kosher. My dad does. It’s okay, it would have been on me to tell you if I did.”

You still looked nervous despite his reassurance, anxiously consulting the list of ingredients on your phone as you chewed on your lower lip. “Look, a kinda shortcut is to make something vegetarian. It’s usually kosher that way. And I’ll make sure everything in your kitchen is kosher.”

“Oh! I’m vegetarian.”

Oh, Steven would love that.

“Great,” he had reassured you. “Then we don’t have anything to worry about. I’ll help you. I’ll make sure it’s all fine.”

And he had. And it was. And he’d liked cooking with you, even though it didn’t seem to be something you did all that often.

Marc likes all the little mundane things you do together. Home improvement and grocery shopping and going to the hardware store and cooking.

He shakes the memory away and looks at the wallpaper again, orange and patterned with gold leaf. It’s curling off the walls, peeling down in strips in other places where you’d torn at it with your hands.

You’ve yet to paint your flower boxes, and Marc still hasn’t built you a new sign or finished repointing the brickwork. The fucking bell is still rusted where it hangs above your door.

Only one of the warped glass panels in the wooden front door has been replaced so far. A single pane of colorless glass replaced by a red and yellow image of a bird that you and Steven had made together one evening.

Despite all of those uncompleted projects, he’d caught you on a ladder earlier in the day ripping down strips of wallpaper when there had been a lull in customers. You’d had an odd expression on your face as you did so, one Marc couldn’t read.

Marc stares at the peeling paper, and what lay beneath. He wishes you would have said something before ripping it down. He probably could have salvaged it. The design is pretty.

“Marc!” You call. “C’mere, honey.”

He gut lurches with that pleasant little nickname you’ve gifted him. It feels unfair, like something he should get to call you, not the other way around. You’d first called him that in the hardware store, your hand curled around his bicep when you saved him from the sales person.

“Honey,” Jake coos at him. “Aw.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles before calling out to you, “Comin’!”

Jake cackles, and Marc knows he thinks he’s slick, but it's hard not to notice how much Jake has been showing up lately compared to before.

Jake likes you too, and he’s really only half joking about being the one to take you on a date.

He steps down the ladder to weave through the shelves to the back of the shop.

You’re just stepping down the last few steps of the back staircase, his father in tow behind you.

Before he can reach you, you’ve turned to his father and taken his hands in yours. “Thank you for coming over, Elias. I hope my cooking wasn’t too bad.”

“It was delicious. Thank you…for everything.” Elias’s eyes cut to where Marc stands before flicking back to you, an unreadable look passes between the two of you and he’s left to wonder what Elias means by that, what the two of you talked about.

Marc’s hands curl into uncomfortable fists at his sides, but he makes an effort to smile.

By the snort you try to choke back he doesn’t do a very good job. “You’re very welcome,” you say to his father. “Marc will walk you home.”

Elias blinks over at him again. “You won’t be coming with us?”

“I’m afraid not,” you say apologetically. “I have a lot to do around here. You see how Marc has been terrorizing my wallpaper.”

Marc shifts his gaze to you, glaring. “Right, it’s me terrorizing the wallpaper.”

To Marc’s surprise, his father laughs. “Okay, maybe another time then. For tea or coffee, whatever you prefer.”

You nod, though Marc knows you have no intention of ever accepting an invitation. Not without him, at least.

The thought warms him, just a little, that you wouldn’t even walk over to the house with them, not if Marc didn’t want you to.

He ushers his father ahead of him through the crowded aisles.

But before he can follow, you reach out and cup one hand under his arm, your fingers hooking in the crease of his elbow. “Are you coming back?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” you smile, rub your thumb against the delicate ridge of bone in his arm. “Tonight went well.”

“Yeah,” he agrees.

It did.

Even if he’d had to escape a little early.

You laugh again, though he can’t fathom why. “Okay. I’ll be waiting for you.” Your thumb traces over his skin again, before you release him and turn away.

Milwaukee Avenue, Chicago 8:15 PM

His father is talking about you, moving around the living room slowly, gathering up a book and his reading glasses.

Elias likes you a lot.

Since Marc’s breakdown, since he finally explained to his father how hard it is to be at home, things have been less strained between them. A certain tension still lingers in the air, but not as thick as it had. It’s possible to breathe now, possible to stand still.

His father seems to understand why it's hard for Marc to be in the house, why it's hard for him to be around Elias himself. And Marc supposes it's a good enough start.

Nothing between them is fixed and Marc isn’t sure it ever can be. He doesn’t know if he wants to try, if he wants to reconcile.

Is there anything to reconcile?

It’s the one question he consistently comes back to. He doesn’t know if what had been fractured between them can ever be fixed again, or overlooked.

“Are you heading back over to Tales Untold?” Elias asks as he settles in an armchair, his book on his knees.

“Yeah.”

Marc considers leaving then, just turning around and walking out the door without another word. But speaking with his father has become easier in the last week, like Marc broke the protective seal of cordiality that made both of them quiet.

He can do this. He can ask.

Elias looks surprised when Marc sits down in the opposite armchair and adjusts himself uncomfortably. “We gotta talk about the piano.”

His father slips his glasses on and then peers at Marc over the rim. “Okay, Marc.”

“We gotta talk about everything.” He swallows, remembering the way he’d broken the week before, dashed his heart on the rocks of the house.

For you. Because he was protective and worried about you.

But he doesn’t know if he can do all of that in one day. To ask about the alcoholism and the abuse and why his mother had hated him so much and why his father let her hate him.

“Not right now, though.” You’re waiting for him to come back, and he says as much.

His dad smiles at that, the twist of his mouth soft, and Marc can’t understand why it would garner that reaction. Marc doesn’t comment on it, decides he doesn’t want to know. “Why,” he starts, mouth dry suddenly, his tongue like sandpaper. “Why did you donate the piano?”

Elias’s shoulders relax, the tension bleeding out of them. “I know you think the worst of me, Marc. And I can’t really blame you. The two of us…we’re not good at talking. We never have been.”

Marc nods and waits, because it’s not an answer to his question.

The muscle along Marc’s spine pulls tight while he waits for an answer, like he’s on marionette strings about to be cut.

“Your mother never played the piano after Randall died, and neither did you. When you left, I still had hope that you’d come home. But when she died, that left me. Neither of you were ever going to play it again.” He glances away, “It reminded me too much of you. It was painful to look at.”

Marc goes still, trying to piece together what his father had just said.

Reminded him of Marc. Given away because it hurt, not because he was being erased, not because it reminded him of Wendy. It reminded him of Marc.

“I have to get back to Tales Untold,” Marc says abruptly, standing up sharply.

Elias nods, “You should just stay there. You’d probably sleep better.”

The suggestion catches Marc off guard. “I can’t just -,”

His father shrugs. “You could ask.” Before he cracks open the novel, he says, “We talked about Shabbat. You should both come to a service one Saturday. Together.”

“I…you did?”

“Yes,” he shrugs. “Seemed interested.”

He’s not sure why he says it, he should just turn and leave. “We had to go shopping for ingredients,” Marc says.

And then, before he can convince himself not to say anything more, tells his father about how you’d been nervous about cooking for him, and about the kosher incident at the grocery store.

Elias smiles and then laughs. “I think you’ve found a really good person.”

The words well up inside him, the urge to tell his father he doesn’t know what a good person is, not really. But the words die in his mouth, because it feels like an insult to you.

Because his father is right about that, at least.

You’re an inordinately good person.

“Goodnight, dad.”

His father doesn’t look up from his book, “Goodnight, son.”

Tales Untold, Chicago 8:58 PM

By the time he makes it back to Tales Untold, you’ve managed to rip down the wallpaper on an entire exposed wall.

“Well,” you plant your fist on your hip and examine the yellowed wall beneath, your other hand still tailing a strip of paper. “I suppose I’ll have to clean the wall.”

“Then what?” He leans back against one of the shelves, crossing his arms over his chest.

You purse your lips, humming under your breath. “Maybe I’ll paint a mural.”

“Oh yeah?” He watches your mouth twist, the flick of your eyes over the blank wall, like you’re seeing more than the empty space. “Why’d you want the wallpaper down anyways? We coulda fixed it back up.”

“Reminds me of my mom,” you say, suddenly bending down to gather up the paper left on the floor, bunching it up between your palms. “I mean,” your mouth twists to the side a little as you consider the wall. “This is all her. Not me.”

A sense of vertigo sweeps through Marc, because he associates everything here with you. “It is?”

You hum in confirmation but don’t look at him, your eyes firmly glued to the paper in your hands. “Upstairs. That’s my stuff. But everything else. The shop and everything out front was hers.”

And Marc becomes very suddenly aware of the fact that he’s never asked you. He knows nothing about your past, not really. In his mind, you’ve just always been there, standing in the sunlight at the back of the shop.

He almost bites down the question. But he’s already tried his hand at one hard conversation, maybe he could do it again.

“What…uh, what happened?”

You turn and smile at him. “You don’t have to ask,” you say before walking away.

Marc frowns after you before following. “Yeah well, I wanted to.”

You stuff the long ribbons of ruined wallpaper into the bin behind the counter, leaning into the wood with your head propped on your fist. “I lived with my dad out of state. Chicago isn’t really my home, but I spent every summer here with my mom. I think she - I think she was like me. I think she felt things from the stuff people donated.”

Marc leans opposite you, leaving one hand open and extended toward you. He hopes it's not too obvious, that he’s hoping you’ll reach out and fold your fingers between his.

He feels a spike of jealousy sometimes, for how easily Steven touched you and how easily you accepted his touch. He doesn’t know for sure if it’ll be the same with him as it is with Steven.

You don’t immediately take his hand, but that’s okay.

Jake is reflected in a nearby case, gesturing at you. “Just do it.”

He ignores him, giving the tiniest shake of his head.

“Maybe that’s why you thought you knew me,” you say, mouth quirking in a smile. “Maybe we saw each other in the summer around the neighborhood.”

He nods, “Yeah, maybe. You think this thing is hereditary?”

“Maybe. We never talked about it so maybe she was just intuitive.” You shrug and then reach to take his hand as Jake calls him a coward for waiting. “Anyways, she passed away last year.” You squeeze his hand, “It was right around the time your dad donated the piano.”

You slide your fingers over his wrist, and Jake has gone quiet in the reflection of the case, carefully watching you. “I was meant to clean this place out. Sell it. I’d already gone through most of her things in the apartment and I was just starting on the shop when your dad came by. Something about it…I dunno, I felt like I should stay. Not like I had a career anyways. I never finished college and this place was paid off a long time ago so,” you shrug. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed the rest of the street got gentrified. I wouldn’t be able to afford it otherwise.”

You’re rambling a little, your words nervous in a way they’re usually not.

You look up and meet his eyes. “It gave me peace. I kept it for you as much as I kept it for me. I should have told you that before.”

He remembers the way you’d went still when you realized what piano he’d been looking for the first day he stumbled into the shop, the guarded, watchful cut of your gaze before he explained who he was.

Marc watches you for a long time, trying and failing to grip at the emotions twisting and roiling inside him. He’s not sure what exactly he’s feeling.

Both your mothers’ deaths had brought you together. His father had. The piano had.

Without any of that, he would have never had cause to come over to Tales Untold. He would have never had cause to meet you at all.

“I just left everything alone after that. Well, I moved my things in and repainted upstairs. But now, thanks to you and your criticisms of my storefront,” you smile and roll your eyes, “I decided I should make it more me. Y’know? Like upstairs.” You fidget again, glancing away from him, your grin fading.

Marc nods, still not sure what to say, the weight of something unknowable setting on his lungs. He never really considered that he might be impacting your life in any way. This weight isn’t uncomfortable, not like it usually is.

Your hands are still stroking over his, the pressure of your fingers pleasant and warm, soothing, and he doesn’t know what to say.

“I liked the orange.”

You grin, the sudden beam of your smile blinding him. “I did too. It just needs an update. I don’t want to erase the character of the shop. And I don’t want to erase her.”

Marc doesn’t know how to respond to that, since he’s had days he wished he could erase his mother. “I’m sorry,” he says, even though you’ll have no idea what he’s apologizing for.

“Hey,” you press your fingertips to the pulse point in his wrist. “It doesn’t erase your feelings, honey. It doesn’t make -,” you stop and take a breath. “She wasn’t perfect either, y’know. She was only a good mom when it suited her, and only when I got older. It’s why I lived with my dad. Even though it was complicated, I still loved her.” Your voice is quiet, “I think you struggle with that too.”

He doesn’t want to admit that. It makes thinking about Wendy all the harder, thinking about his past all the harder. “I don’t -,” he stops, meeting your gaze.

The shop is usually flooded with natural light. Now, you stand cocooned together in the low overhead lights. It casts odd shadows across your face, and a sudden exhaustion hits him all at once.

You don’t pull away, waiting. “It’s okay,” you soothe, still working the tension out of his hands.

“I don’t want to miss her,” he shifts, cradling your hands between his, slowly sliding his touch along your palms and the falls and valleys of your fingers. “That’s…it’s fucked up. I shouldn’t fucking miss her. I shouldn’t remember anything good and the piano -,”

He stops again, not able to continue. “I understand,” you muse. “It’s obviously not the same. But sometimes, I’m mad at her. She didn’t want to change who she was to be my mom. At the same time, I had a lot of good times with her.”

Marc looks up from your twinned hands at the same time that you do.

You disentangle one hand to shift an errant curl back from his face. “It’s okay to miss her. It’s okay to mourn who she was before. It’s okay to miss and mourn the mother she should have been to you. It doesn’t make what she did to you any less terrible than it was. It just means things are complicated. It just means you’re human.”

Marc doesn’t look away from you, chasing the cut of your gaze. Your lashes lie thick against your cheek when you look down, like you’re embarrassed about all you’ve shared. He doesn’t want you to stop talking. He’d listen to you forever. He doesn’t want you to be embarrassed about sharing things with him.

Instead of saying any of that to you, he nods slowly and says, “How’d you figure all that out?”

“It’s all I’ve thought about for the last year,” you shrug. “I’ve spent a lot of time with myself. I mean, you’ve probably noticed that you’re kinda my only friend,” you joke lightly.

“That’s not true.”

“Name one other person.”

“That girl at Flour Up. The hardware guy.”

You smile. “Okay, Marc Spector, the hardware guy is definitely a better friend to me than you are.”

“He’d like to be though, wouldn’t he?” Marc mutters, thinking of the other times you’ve had to go to the hardware store with him. Your laugh breaks the tension, the edges of your eyes crinkling up before he adds, “Steven, too.”

You before he can stop you, you’re tugging your hand out of his grip.

His grief only lasts a second though, because a moment later you’ve rounded the counter and yourself fitted into his arms, hugging him tightly. “You’re safe here,” your mouth is by his ear, your voice soft, and he can feel the movement of your jaw where it’s tucked against his shoulder. “You can talk to me.”

“I know.” And he does. “My dad said to ask if I could stay here.”

“You can stay here,” you say, even though it wasn’t a question. “Always.”

Marc turns you gently in his arms, presses you back into the counter. Your hands fly up to press against his biceps, your hands warm through the fabric of his t-shirt. “What?” You smile at him when he doesn’t say anything.

“My dad told me that he got rid of the piano because it gave him hope I’d come home. When my mom died, that hope died. He was alone. The piano was hope for him. It reminded him too much of me. And before.”

You blink, “What’s the piano for you?”

Home. It’s home.

It reminds him of his mother and what should have been.

He doesn’t answer you.

But you nod anyway and stroke a careful hand across his shoulders, drawing him in closer. You’re warm against him, pliant and relaxed against his chest.

You smell like peace, like warmth and that signature lavender.

Marc decides to accept the moment for what it is, whether he should or not, gripping you back tight. He slides one hand up your spine until he can cup his palm against the back of your neck, the other winds around your waist.

For a moment, he thinks your breath stutters, before it rushes out of you in a sigh and you soften against him.

It’s a show of trust he didn’t know he needed.

You hold him just as tightly, adjusting your grip around his ribs.

“Ask.” It’s Steven this time. “You’re clearly flirting with each other. Go on, Marc, ask about the date.”

He closes his eyes to Steven’s reflection and shakes his head as subtly as he can.

Marc doesn’t let go of you.

He doesn’t ask you either.

Tales Untold, Chicago 11:24 PM

Marc does the dishes, just like he’d promised to.

Like always, he refuses your help but lets you watch.

You stand close to him, just so you can feel the heat rolling off his skin. And although you want to touch him again, you don’t.

He’s much quieter than usual, and for someone like Marc that means he’s practically nonverbal.

He doesn’t seem upset, merely introspective.

But it doesn’t stop anxiety from swimming in your belly, worried you’d overstepped yourself downstairs.

Your situation with your mother was very different to his, that much you know even if you don’t know the details.

When he’s done with the dishes and the water is draining away you decide to give him a bit of space. “I’m going to take a quick shower.” A knot of unease rests uncomfortably in your throat that you aren’t sure how to swallow down. You aren’t quite sure what it means.

Despite the worry rooting down in your veins, you manage to smile at him, showing him where the remote to your TV is. “If you’re still hungry, the leftovers are in the fridge and there are snacks pretty much in any cabinet you open. Okay?”

“Okay.” He only answers you when the door to the bathroom is nearly closed behind you.

You suck in a breath and try to put Marc out of your mind and how much you’d said.

Too much probably, considering what you had been talking about. Marc is already so closed up, you should have just left it. He didn’t need your shit weighing on him too.

A laugh escapes you and you press a hand over your mouth, stifling the laughter when you remember accusing Marc of being closed off.

Maybe you were the same, and overthinking it too.

You can’t find it in yourself to regret touching him though. The memory of the warmth of him against you fills you both with an odd peace and a giddy nervousness. You’d never wanted to move.

You stare at the crescents in the tile under your feet, remembering the heat of his shoulder beneath your cheek, the scent of him something heady and uniquely Marc, the way his palm felt both possessive and protective on the back of your neck.

You shake your head as you step in the shower, trying to clear away the wings of thought that closeness carried.

Marc trusts you with the pieces of himself as he works through something you only half understand. You can’t break that, you won’t.

The warmth of the water serves to wash away some of the tension lining your spine, ease the anxiety still bubbling inside you.

You don’t want to admit it, but you’re eager to be back with Marc.

You roll your eyes at yourself and flip off the water, annoyed.

It feels like a crush. It makes you feel stupid, like you’re a kid again, how much you like him.

It takes you a moment to hear it, over the sound of the bathroom fan and the still dripping water from the showerhead while you towel off.

Piano notes.

A song is being played slowly and deliberately, a little clumsily as though the person hasn’t played in a very long time.

You find yourself smiling as you listen. Still dripping water onto the floor, you wrap the towel around your body and step out of the shower to push your ear against the door.

Marc seems to pick up confidence the longer he plays, the notes faster and more sure, though he does make quite a few mistakes.

He plays beautifully, if a little inelegantly, the same song you usually play for him. You close your eyes and listen, not sure what it means that Marc is finally playing the piano. You pull away from the door and go through your after shower routine as quickly as you can before dressing, not able to wipe the smile off your face, worries forgotten.

You half expect the music to stop as soon as you have the door open, but it doesn’t.

Marc doesn’t even glance up as you creep closer and perch on the edge of the bench, like he isn’t entirely aware that you’re there.

You don’t touch him, just listen quietly for as long as he plays, itching to play alongside him but not daring to interrupt.

When the song eventually tapers off, Marc doesn’t turn to you, like he’s afraid to look at you.

You scoot closer to him on the bench then, until your shoulder bumps his.

His breath hitches when you pillow your head against his shoulder. “Beautiful,” you murmur. “Really.”

Marc carefully lies his cheek against the crown of your head. “Thanks. Little rusty.”

“Not too bad,” you hum. “I’m definitely the better player though.”

You think you feel his lips ghost against your temple, but you can’t be sure.

The feeling is so brief, you’re sure you imagined it. But you definitely feel the little huff of a laugh against your forehead. “Yeah, you are.”

He lifts his head away from yours, but his hand finds yours, the warmth of his palm enveloping yours.

You don’t try to hide your smile when you stand and attempt to tug him up from the bench. “C’mon. That’s enough emotional turmoil for one day.”

Marc manages a laugh but doesn’t follow the pull of your touch. “What?” you ask when he just looks at you.

For a moment, you think maybe you’re looking at Steven and you just hadn’t noticed the switch, before you realize Marc just has his guard down. His gaze is wide and gentle. The ease of trust makes him look younger, looser.

“What?” you repeat. “What’s wrong, honey?”

That word on your tongue seems to pull him out of his thoughts, whatever doubt was making him hesitate.

“C’mere,” he says, his eyes going soft and shaded. “There’s somethin’ I wanna show you.”

You tilt your head and watch curiously as Marc releases your hand and stands. He pushes the piano bench out of the way, and then folds himself to lie beneath the piano.

Intrigued, you bend at the waist and meet his eyes. “Is this your way of telling me you wanna sleep there?”

He rolls his eyes. “Just c’mere. I’m trying to show you something,” he grumbles.

You straighten and pluck a pillow off the sofa before returning to him.

It’s shadowed beneath the piano, the air cooler than the rest of the apartment. You tap Marc’s forehead so he lifts his head and you can fit the pillow beneath his head before you settle next to him.

He’s warm, his skin molten where it presses against yours, and that odd little flutter returns to your chest.

You don’t even consider looking up, tilting your chin in his direction instead. His lashes look impossibly long against the arch of his cheekbone, his skin golden brown in the soft lighting. The dusk of the little cocoon you’ve created in the shade of the piano feels strangely safe and peaceful.

You wonder how much of that is Marc’s presence, and how much is the piano’s energy.

Marc’s normally stormy expression breaks and he smiles at you suddenly, letting you watch him before he reaches out and taps two fingers under your chin. “I know I’m pretty, but you can stare at me some other time.”

You scoff, despite the prickle of embarrassment that itches under your skin. “Sure, flatter yourself, Marc.”

Marc just guides your head up, until you’re staring at the underside of the piano.

Etched into the wood are two sets of initials.

M.S. R.S.

“Oh,” you say, reaching up to trace the outline of letters clearly made by a child’s clumsy fingers. “M S, Marc Spector,” you whisper and trace the letters slowly. “Who’s R?”

Marc doesn’t immediately answer. When you hear him swallow loudly, you turn your head to look at him, hand settling atop your stomach when you lower it. “Marc?”

“My brother. Randall.”

“Randall,” you repeat. “Right. Your dad mentioned that when he dropped it off. Said you and your brother played it together.”

Marc nods, just the slightest dip of his chin. “Yep. We did.” He reaches up and traces the letters now, and you watch his face carefully. He’s nervous, but otherwise fine. “That was before he died.”

“Oh,” you murmur. “I didn’t know. I’m so sorry, Marc.”

He turns to you, eyes flicking over your face. “Look, I don’t wanna - we don’t gotta talk about it.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” When he just stares at you, you tilt your face toward his. You turn on your side and tuck your knees up against the side of his. Something warm roots down in you when he presses his hand over your waist and helps you wriggle closer to him. “It’s not about me, honey.”

His brows furrow. “Why do you call me that?”

“‘Cause you’re sweet,” you tease and smirk when he rolls his eyes. He leaves his hand where it rests against your waist, his wrist draped casually on your hip. His fingers flex on the edge of your t-shirt, fiddling with the edge of it, when he turns fully toward you on his side.

“I don’t know how,” he admits, fingers tightening on you, like he’s afraid you might slip away.

You tilt forward carefully, until your forehead rests against his. Marc keeps his eyes open and on yours. His eyes are like amber, threads of coffee and umber darkening his irises. Pretty, expressive eyes dig into yours, rounded with something you can’t identify. “No one really does. It’s not easy.”

“Was it easy for you? Talking about your mom?” His nose touches yours, his breath warm where it fans over your lips and chin.

It’s a little hard to breathe, even harder to focus.

Really, you think, no person should be allowed to be so beautiful.

“No,” you manage to laugh. You hadn’t talked about your mother since she died, since her funeral. “I went in the bathroom and panicked about how much I said,” you admit, and Marc frowns at you, starts to open his mouth when you continue. “It took a lot of…of y’know, internal work, to make peace with it. Only really started to get past the grief and confusion when you showed up.”

You fold one of your hands into his chest, trying not to feel nervous about the closeness, the vulnerability. It would be so easy to roll into him, to press yourself into his chest and absorb the heat of him. “Really?”

“Mmhm,” you hum. “Reminded me that this place can still change, and so can I. I’ve been like a bug trapped in honey. Everyday was the same. Long shifts and terrible dates. And then you showed up.”

Marc blinks, like he’s confused, like he never considered that he might be impacting your life. At least not in a positive way.

It’s quiet for a long time, and you shift to tuck your head under his chin, so you were both more comfortable and the position was slightly less awkward.

Marc does tuck his arm fully around you then, dragging you closer.

You can feel his eyes on the underside of the piano, on his brother’s initials.

“He died when we were kids,” Marc swallows and the sound of it is like grief and mourning. “That’s when she changed. He wasn’t there and she was different. My dad didn’t know what to do. And I was…alone.”

You try to piece together what exactly Marc is trying to say. He has a way of speaking cryptically, saying one thing that was coded for something else. He always treads lightly, like he’s trying to lighten the load of whatever he’s passing on, making the smallest mark possible.

You think of the way he’d told you about what happened the night you met Steven. How he’d said he was stretched thin, a mild turn of phrase for what had clearly been mind numbing fear. The strength of his grief had been enough evidence, the tears and stress and those tiny broken blood vessels beneath his eyes.

“So,” you hazard a guess, “you only have nice memories of both of them with the piano?”

He relaxes against your hand when you press it up the length of his spine. “Yeah.”

“That’s why it’s so important.”

“Yes. And I don’t think -,” he struggles with the words for a long moment, clutching you tighter. “I don’t think I got to mourn. Either of them. I wasn’t allowed.”

You rub his back quietly and wait to see if he’ll say more.

You already knew, you could tell, that Marc just sits with pain, buries it, ignores it. But to hear him admit it shocks you a little.

When he stays quiet, hands drifting over your back and along your sides as though grounding himself in you and the fabric of your shirt, you say, “You have time now. I’m glad you came to get it. It’s okay. To have good memories, of both of them. It’s okay to want the chance to mourn.”

Marc’s arms tighten around you, and you burrow down into him, resting your face against his chest.

You consider asking him if he’d like to move somewhere more comfortable, but you’re already comfortable with him and sleep pulls you under too quickly.

When you wake, Marc’s arms are tight around you, your head pillowed on his chest where he’d turned onto his back.

The sun has long ago risen, and Marc is still asleep.

Halsted Street, Chicago 4:56 PM

Marc watches the hardware guy flirt with you again from the rearview mirror. This is your fifth trip to the store since the first one.

You had decided to layer neon lettering over the new sign Marc was making for you, smiling at him apologetically when he’d groaned. “Now we gotta go back to the hardware store.”

“Sorry,” you’d said. “I know you hate having to go out with me.”

His stomach had done a weird little somersault at your words. “That’s not - that isn’t why -,”

“Marc?”

“What?”

“I’m joking,” you’d winked at him. “I know you hate my hardware store friend.”

He’d just grumbled, “We should go to another fucking hardware store.”

But you are attached to this one now, the one Marc had dragged you to in the first place. It’s something he’s slowly come to realize about you, that you easily get attached to things and routines and people.

He hopes you’re a little more attached to him than that fucking sales associate with a crush.

At the end of the day, though, he’s just some guy with a crush too.

“Crush, eh?” Steven is watching you from the side mirror of the truck. “Me too, I think.”

Marc watches Steven for a moment, his eyes flicking back to where you laugh with the sales guy, still chatting about something in the afternoon sun. It’s hot, summer falling on the city with a vengeance. Your shoulders are partially bare to the sun, and you have one hand lifted to shield your eyes despite having sunglasses clutched in your other hand.

Steven is watching you too, his eyes round and big, like cartoon hearts are about to start floating around his head at any moment.

He’s put off telling Steven about the piano, and he’s been more than patient, even if he’s begun harassing Marc daily about the Cubs game that may or may not be an actual date.

It had only gotten worse since he slept with you in his arms, under the piano no less. He’d tried to stay awake that night, so he could have the memory of holding you that way, apparently completely at ease, relaxed enough with him to fall asleep.

The teasing from Jake had been brutal, while Steven had been delighted. “Nice innit?” he’d asked none too casually.

He told you about Randall and his mom. He asked his dad about the fucking piano.

Steven deserves to know, too.

He can do one more hard conversation, he’s done it twice already.

Besides, Steven always knew better than him anyways, was better at seeing up from down.

“Steven,” he says, catching his alter’s attention from where he’s staring at you with lovestruck eyes. “I wanna tell ya about the piano.”

“Bloody hell, Marc, right now?” He blinks away from you to Marc.

When Marc just stares, he nods. “Alright then. Go on,” he encourages quietly. “I’m all ears.”

Marc swallows, leans his head against the frame of the door. “Mom and me used to play the piano all the time.” He swallows, “All my - everything I remember is good.”

The image of the living room bathed in gold swirls back to the front of his memory. The dust motes, the laughter, the quiet of a Saturday morning.

For a moment, he can’t continue, his throat swelling closed with unshed tears. “That’s - that’s a good thing, innit?” Steven asks gently.

Marc swipes at his face even though no tears have escaped. “Yeah. I guess so. But it feels fucked up to - to miss her.” Steven sucks in a breath but Marc barrels on. “I can’t be angry at something that was good. When Randall - when he died, we stopped playing it. We never touched it again.” He presses his head back into the headrest and closes his eyes to Steven. “How am I supposed to hate her when I remember loving her so much?”

“Oh,” Steven whispers, his breath a rush, like he finally understands. “You can do both, I think. I do.”

“You do?”

Steven sounds meek when he answers, “Well, yes. It was hard. Knowing all the love I remembered, well, that it came from you. And knowing-knowing what she did to us. It was hard. It is hard.” Marc opens his eyes to meet Steven’s gaze. “She loved us. We’re allowed to love that part of her. No matter what came later.”

A tear does track down his cheek then, and Marc hastily swipes it away. “Yeah,” he croaks. “Well, that’s why the piano is so hard.” Steven nods, encouraging. “It’s not just about mom though, it's about Roro too.”

“Randall played the piano too?”

“I was just - I had just started teaching him. He wasn't good at it. It came naturally to me. One morning, we - instead of practicing, we scratched our initials into the bottom of it.” Marc stops and checks the rearview mirror, to make sure you’re okay, to make sure you’re still there but not approaching the truck yet.

You’re smiling, one hand still lifted to shade your eyes.

“Anyways,” Marc says, glancing back at Steven. “I don’t like having good feelings about any of it. It feels wrong. Like I’m forgiving her.”

The image comes unbidden again. The warmth of the living room, Wendy’s hands over his, the sound of prayer and breakfast being cooked, the dust motes hanging suspended in the air; Randall begging Marc to show him how to play, even though his hands were much too small.

He hates that he remembers laughter and love when his mom bent down to ask them what they were doing under the piano. She hadn’t even gotten mad when she discovered what they’d done, just smiled and held out a hand, beckoning them out.

“You can have both,” Steven says. “It’s alright, Marc. It doesn’t have to be all bad.”

It’s the same thing you’d said to him.

But it had been easier when it was all bad, simpler.

“I know,” he says. “I think I do.”

Steven starts to respond when the passenger side door opens suddenly and you climb into the cab. “Marc,” you say his name, huffing out a wild breath as you adjust yourself in the seat and yank your seatbelt into place. “We gotta go get some ice cream. It’s so fucking hot,” you swipe a hand over your sweaty brow. “It’s full of tourists, but do you wanna try Navy Pier?”

If it were all bad, he thinks suddenly, maybe he wouldn’t have met you. If it were all bad, he wouldn’t have found out that his father missed him, he wouldn’t have had a reason to hunt for the piano and visit Tales Untold.

Marc reaches over and takes your hand, folds your fingers between his. He says your name and when you meet his eyes, your smile disappears, replaced with a fretful expression. “What?”

“Nothin’,” he shakes his head.

You reach up with your other hand and touch his cheek, the corner of your mouth twitching upwards again. “Alright, go ahead and be cryptic and weird.”

“Hey,” he catches at your hand when you start to pull away. You look beautiful, your skin is glowing. Marc tries not to stare and fails. “We gotta get tickets. If you still wanna go to a Cubs game.”

You blink at him; long, slow blinks where your lashes kiss the space beneath your eyes. “Yeah? I thought you were getting them.” You tilt your head, “And then - pizza after? Isn’t that what we said?”

You’re close to him, your eyes wide as you lean closer to him over the center console. You smell like sunshine, like sun on skin, and beneath that like your usual lavender.

Marc presses your hand harder against his cheek, tipping his head towards yours. Your breath shakes when you inhale and your mouth parts gently when you glance down at his lips.

He wants to kiss you so bad there’s an ache in his chest. But he keeps his eyes on yours, your breath fanning across his lips, the scent of you like sweet mint.

When you meet his eyes, you look mildly confused, and Marc wonders for just a split second if you’re as unsure as he is.

Your eyes flick down again, and Marc watches your face curiously. There are no walls between you. He doesn’t feel like he has to hide anything from you. You’d already caught him at his very worst.

So, he should do this right - shouldn’t he?

He should wait. Do it properly. He’s never gotten the chance before, not really.

He clears his throat and inches back from you, pulling your hand away from his cheek as he goes, patting your fingers gently. The last thing he wants to do is let go of you, and so he doesn’t, folding your fingers between his instead. “Yeah, I can get us tickets. Just wanted to make sure you still wanted to go.”

You smile and then narrow your eyes. “Did you forget about it or something?”

Marc scoffs, feels the beat of the pulse in your wrist against his. Like he could fucking forget about it. “Of course not.”

“Not,” you repeat with the same inflection, a tease in your voice. “Listen to that accent.”

You glance over him, a strange fondness lodging in your eyes. “You alright? Looked like you were thinking pretty hard about something.” You reach up when he doesn’t answer to push a lock of hair behind his ear, like you’ve done a million times before.

But this time you say, “You should let your curls out more.”

Your fingers brush along his temple, the pads of your fingers soft. Marc basks in the warmth of your attention, the feeling of your hand against his skin.

“You like the curls, huh?”

You huff out a laugh and ruffle his hair until it falls in loose rings around his forehead.

He glares at you, and you throw your head back and laugh. The sound is unbelievable in its joy and he’s surprised he managed to draw it out of you.

Marc’s breath catches somewhere in his lungs, and he finds it hard to swallow down the feelings welling up.

Should he wait? Should he do anything at all?

This can’t last, this happiness in you. It never does, not when he’s around.

He hates the uncertainty that snaps a steel trap around his heart. But it's true, it’s always been true that people are better off without him.

You smile and twist a curl around your finger. “Look how pretty,” you coo at him.

Marc finds himself leaning into your hand when you cup his jaw. He wants to close his eyes and melt into it because he can’t be sure how long it will last. Your fingertips are just brushing his cheek when -

“Stop it. We are not doing this again, Marc. Stop thinking like that, asshole,” Jake says from the rearview mirror so suddenly that Marc flinches away from your touch.

You suck in a hard breath, and unlike the other times, it’s not a pleasant sound. “Sorry,” you pull back from him, looking horrified as you drop your hand.

“No,” he reaches for you again. “No, it’s -,”

You lift a brow, move your hand out of his reach, “It’s what?”

“Not you,” he shakes his head. “It’s not you.” He glances at Jake, who has the gall to lift a brow at him though he does look guilty for startling him, and then back at you.

“Oh,” you murmur.

Your face is closed off now, your smile a little strained, and he can’t tell what you’re thinking. “Okay.” You swallow, “I wanna go. With you. Just to be clear.”

Marc isn’t really sure what to say as you tuck yourself back into the seat, practically against the door, readjusting the seat belt before you fiddle with the radio, not looking at him, like you’re trying to give him space he doesn’t want.

He sighs, glares at the rearview where only his own face stares back at him now. He should know by now to take the chances offered to him, because nothing ever goes right otherwise.

He wonders again, why he even tries.

And this time, Jake isn’t there to interrupt him.

Thank you for reading! A special thank you to those keeping up with the series, and for all the continued love and support.

Comments and feedback are so appreciated. New parts will be posted Saturdays at 3PM EST! You can add yourself to the tag list on the series masterlist.

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